The sole exercise I’ve practiced consistently throughout my life is jogging. I have no interest in going fast or going particularly long – I’ve never raced, or marathoned – but I love maintaining a steady pace for twenty minutes. This is my time to mentally and physically detox, to think, to enjoy the outdoors, to listen to music, to observe the world, to be alone – a time that requires nothing more than putting on my sneakers and leaving the house. 

Alas, my running habit is one of the many things that has fallen by the wayside or at least made more complicated with the onset of kid-rearing. Using one of those large jogging strollers does not appeal to me (especially now that it would have to be an even larger double). Gone would be the small pocket of solitude or music or thought; and forget the simplicity of just throwing on shoes.

Now a seemingly mundane activity like going for a run has become a luxury, treasured and earned. So much so that my husband gave me the Gift of a Jog the other day. This might read as no big thing, but it was momentous to me. We packed up the family first thing in the morning on a beautiful Sunday and went to the Croton Gorge Park, where the reservoir waters fall alongside a pristine triangle of parkland complete with picnic tables and playground. While husband attempted whiffle ball with the toddler and wore the baby, I ran free. And ran and ran.

Like the intermittent runs I’ve taken closer to home (right out of my doorstep along the growing riverfront, along our knotty stretch of the Aqueduct trail, and in Rockefeller State Preserve), this one was lovely. I looped up through the woods and then over the dam and back, waving to my family down below (not small, as I teach my toddler, just far away), then veering off onto Croton's section of the Old Croton Aqueduct, a nice wide path with packed dirt so forgiving on the feet.

I didn’t need music when I had birdsong. The dogwoods were flowering. Bees buzzed. Spring had recreated the world, reborn me. The physical distraction of jogging sets my brain free, and I remembered I had the idea for my second book in such a woods, on such a run, as this. This time I thought I’d write a column about running, which is about as ambitious as my projects get these days: 500 words.

After a record-breaking forty-five-minute run, I felt invigorated in a way that coffee never quite achieves, and then hungry in a way that demanded good fast food. You came back! My husband seemed relieved. I was high on endorphins. The toddler was giddy with her new plastic orange bat. Baby gurgled in the Daddy sling.

We stopped at Mex-to-go take-out food in Croton on the way home, for a heavy bag of four tacos, refried beans, rice and beans, and enchilada platter for a mere $16. Then to make the day even better someone came at last from my many-months-old Craigslist posting to buy the crib and bassinet we've outgrown. 

A long run, a cheap lunch, and more money at the end of the day than we started with. Having kids really attunes you to the sacred of the small: every jog, every penny, every blessed taco.