Fleet-Footed Mornings

She runs, feet churning in rhythm like pistons as they contact the pavement. A slipstream of air and dust trails behind her. It's a crisp morning. She wears a light hooded sweatshirt and a headband that contains her unruly chestnut hair that flits and flutters in the breeze. The ocean air energizes her for the final mile. Looking to her side, she glimpses the beginning of a sunrise. It turns the world orange and red. She grits her teeth and sprints, her breaths become shallower, her taught legs become a blur. One more mile.