To be fragile implies a high level of breakability; a likelihood of being damaged; an inherent weakness.
The perfect run is a fragile state, but not because of some flaw or failing on the part of the runner. It is simply easily broken, ended.
I am not an ultra runner or super elite (or elite in any single way), but I do get on the roads for around 125 kilometres per month. Nothing even close to the top athletes, but an average joe kind of mileage. And in those approximately 1500 kilometres of running each year over the course of more than a decade, I haven’t ever found the perfect run.
What I have found are perfect run moments. Times when the sunrise is just so tear-jerkingly stunning that I forget it’s minus 15 Celsius and can’t feel my face. Times when the ocean vista or rolling hills or swirling bald eagle above lead my mind away from the arduous breathing and effort it took to get to the top of that mile long hill. Times when I drift away from all thought entirely and just effortlessly move through space, breathe.
All these times are just fleeting moments however. As soon as I am conscious of the perfection in the moment, it’s over. I immediately recall how my quads are burning, how under-dressed I am for the weather, how chafed the inside of my thighs are, or how tired my whole body feels.
The perfect run may not actually exist, but the pursuit of the perfect run moment is what keeps me lacing up and heading out the door.
Those moments are #runhappiness.