Ice King

My eyes refused to open this morning, even though I woke up just before the alarm went off and tiptoed from the bedroom. Meg was breathing deeply, lost in one of her vivid dreams. As usually, I slowly descended the stairs to the basement, trying to keep the left ankle immobile, because it cracks loudly with every step. The dry cracks of the joint seem amplified in the dead quiet of the night. It always worries me that the noise will wake the sleeping queen.

In the basement I squeezed into my running tights, stretched and quietly went out. The cold air of the night pricked the exposed skin of my face with thousands of needles and finally jolted me awake. Right on time, as it turns out. When I stepped on the pavement, my feet slipped. Streets of the neighborhood were covered with a thin layer of ice. The sky was clear with stars and a slice of the moon shining brightly. I owned the road, feeling like a king. My kingly steps were very feminine - short and careful, like running over egg shells. But, for the first icy run of the season, it was uneventful and almost nice.