When I run my head fills with remarkable ideas and insights which beg to be transferred to paper and admired. As my feet carry me along the river, and then up into the undulating paths of the forest, I contemplate, among other things, the richness of my life.  My thoughts are unfailingly upbeat and inspired, maybe evidence of the endorphins we have heard so much about, yet they’re frustratingly ephemeral as once my shower is done and my tea has brewed, they have mostly flown away.  I am left with only short bullets of what were once entire cerebral paragraphs.  Thoughts on the nature of time and life, parenthood, motherhood, the mother-daughter relationship, the desire to follow my dreams, the joy of running, the pleasure of solitude, the merits of company, my relative youth, my relative lack of youth- all but gone.   Maybe if I didn’t shower and brew tea but rather kept a notebook at the ready and simply dashed it all down while it still simmered.  I worry, though, that these creative morsels are linked almost entirely with the physicality of my running and that they actually fall away with my last footfall.  This means that all my brilliance will be unrealized existing only for my self approbation.