The sun gently awoke me with a soft ray across my eyelid from between the curtains.  7:28, two minutes before my alarm was set to go off.  It was to be my last run in Wicklow before heading out to Belgium and then London.  I budgeted 30 minutes for running and 60 minutes for packing before hitching our ride to the airport.

Driving the two miles down the hill to the sea, I finally felt comfortable maneuvering the car on the wrong side of the road, and absently wondered if it would be weird to move back to the right side when I got home.  The breeze came through the cracked window and it was clean and crisp, the perfect compliment to clear blue skies.  I couldn’t wait to run.

Tying the car key to my shoe and blasting Florence and the Machine on my phone speakers, I headed south along the coast toward the lighthouse: my favorite Wicklow run.  After 15 minutes, when it was time to turn around, I was feeling too good, enjoying it too much.

Could I afford to extend the run just a little bit?  How much packing did I really need to do?  The lighthouses up ahead on the point called to me, and I decided then and there that I was going to chuck everything into my bag in a pile in 5 minutes if I had to…I had to touch those lighthouses one more time.

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