Like a bull to a taunting flag ablaze in red satin, I hunted down the hills this morning. I attacked, but did not conquer.
My face was as crimson as the blood in my veins and my legs as leaden as, well, lead once the run was done and I began the final descent home.
And I was angry with myself, saw red, for cutting the run shorter than my goal. Two more sets! That’s all I needed to finish.
I recouped and calmed down, forgave myself my quitting episode, with some local scarlet cranberries atop yogurt and granola.
A run of red.
The colour of pride, victory, and defeat.