May I draw your attention to numbers four and five…

I had a handful of posts that I wanted to put up over this past month, but as I sit here and contemplate packing for a fourth time in as many weeks, I’m understanding why just about nothing got done in terms of Megan Rambling. While I don’t consider myself to be putting out anything critical on here, I do see value in posting. It’s more for the sake of keeping the light on in terms of a writing practice. I haven’t had the guts to pitch anything for publication this year (and props to my talented friends who are clicking away), but at a bare minimum I do need to to be putting pen to paper.  Writing for me is just like running: both ensure I keep a safe distance from the Cliffs of Insanity. So with that thought in mind, I can think of no better way to end May than by doing a bit of both.

I don’t know what kind of ale my neighbors are feeding their flowers, but the colors are downright iridescent.

At some stage over the past month, the entire town woke up and went into full bloom.  London is absolutely gorgeous in its color display– even if the weather pattern is lacking in the predictability department. One day it’s wicked hot and I’m walking home in a tank top, while the next I’ve begrudgingly donned a scarf and gloves to shield myself from what must be a drunken and misguided wind from the north. We are not amused. If I didn’t know any better, I’d almost swear that my siblings were upstairs and throwing open the hot water faucet at the precise moment I’d decided to take a shower. As we say at home, bring on summah.

Ahh the canal.  Nothing like a Sunday morning cruise to get things going.

But I’m not complaining! Indeed, I am beyond grateful to be living here and am equally keen to get a better sense of my environs.  This month finally got me paired with a great physical therapist and she’s given me the confidence to start building up my mileage again. So long as it’s not uphill running, I’m free to strike out and see what this aging body can handle.  This means abandoning my hilly neighborhood and seeking flatter running routes. I knew exactly where I wanted to go first.

Go green. And red. And purple. And no cars!

Sunday running is always sacred to me. I know I’ve mentioned it before, but getting out in the early hours always affords a person unparalleled access to otherwise cranky and clogged up breathing spaces. This mode of living might not always make for a socially enriching Saturday night, but I’d argue that brunch the next morning after a good run makes for a perfectly acceptable trade-off.

The Regent’s Park late last year. Pretty. Dead.

I moved here in November of last year, right around the time that Daylight Savings ended and almost all of civilization went underground. My temporary accommodation had me living near Regent’s Park, and this in itself was a gift for a runner who was not yet used to life patterns favoring the left-hand side of the street.  I made the most of my runs through the park– but I knew that winter was not this space’s finest hour.  Between all of my travel and a need to run a bit farther than I was used to, I opted to head down the hill and explore the Park during non-Winter Hours.

Forget nearby Madame Tussaud’s. Pay exactly £0 and spend your day wandering the finest in wax free majesty.

The London sky does not enjoy committing to a single state of existence.  You can wake up in the early hours and find a crystal blue day, only to head out the door and find the entire skyscape frosted over in silty white clouds.  That’s what I encountered when I left for my run this morning. Pssh. I’m used to this weather roulette by now; no shortage of sunlight was going to deter my outing. Before I knew it, I was back into Regent’s Park and making my way toward the rose show that was Queen Mary’s Gardens.

20p?! What is this, France?

Like I mentioned up above, I’m slowly trying to build myself back up in terms of mileage. What used to be an hour long outing done “for fun” has now become a major achievement in terms of dealing with nagging injuries.  I no longer take my health for granted– and indeed I strive to do a proper warm up and cool down as a part of my regimen. As is usually the case in London, I leave my flat armed with a Road ID, my credit card and an Oyster Card (because I do not plan on running home back up the sloping hill, as per my PT’s instructions). The only thing I was missing? Coins to accommodate an unforeseen stop at the loo. Guess who had to panhandle in order to access these most royal of sanitation spots? Lucky for me, the offer of eternal good karma was enough to shake some coins free from the good people I bothered. Bless them forever.

Like a moth to light, this city center enclosure knows how to draw us in.

In addition to the roses sprouting throughout the gardens, I came across another bright spot on my Sunday morning. While wrapping up my run and preparing to head for Baker Street, I looked ahead on the trail and thought I spotted someone familiar. Maybe it’s a runner thing, but I knew what shoes she ran in, and the purple-gray pair of Mizunos caught my eye. Sure enough, as soon as I caught up to [potentially] say hello, I confirmed I had the right person and smiled as I felt a sense of normalcy.  It made me miss my running crew back in Washington, DC– but also made me feel as though things were finally settling into normal here in England. Huzzah, the promise of spring!

7+ miles done! I’m so excited I wanna chase a Canadian goose around the park. They’re fat. Trust me, they could use the exercise. Plus they’re greedy a-holes.

As for the running bit, I’m not sure how far I’ll be able to push it, but I’ll take any day that resembles what I got this morning. I’m really looking forward to expanding my radius of exploration here in London- both in running shoes or perhaps in something maybe a bit more stylish/functional.  There’s lots more to discover here, and I plan on making the most of my weekends spent in town.

Slowing down. Sundays are not for run-out-the-door smoothies. They are for lingering over the best breakfasts ever.

So the suitcase for tomorrow still hasn’t packed itself, and I find that we’re at the end of the day here. While I’d love to stay up and watch some mindless TV, I’ve got a busy next couple of days and need to set my harried brain up for success. I’m not sure when my head will next come up for air, but that’s part of the fun of living. For now, if I can just squeeze in a bit more down time, I’ll really feel as though I’ve established a comfortable pattern of life here in my new city.

June’s gonna be just as busy as May, and I’m already prepping my best meditation routine with stylish abandon. Either that or I’m just gonna be hanging around my flat in my skivvies. They (nor I) look nothing like this.

More writing to come. Based on the confounding window displays at Selfridges alone, I’ve got so much more ridiculousness that I need to show you.