Are we here to work, or are we here to run...

Don't listen to what the captains of industry tell you, we were not put on this planet to oil the wheels of industry.  On the way home last night I got off the train at Nailsea (apologies to non-Bristolians), and headed up towards the airport.  I had taken my running kit to work, and had a rucksack containing food and my headtorch; I also had to carry loads of clothing as the weather has finally changed and was a lot warmer than I thought.  As I climbed through the woods in Backwell toward the radio mast I very quickly forgot that I was still on my daily commute, and breathed in the newly-warm air.  What a superb evening!  Buds were apparent on the hawthorn, the birds were identifying territory, and I even got the very first insect of the season in my eye.  As the sun dropped it produced a hazy dusk that really brought the woods to life.
Two hours later, I arrived home having passed through one world into another.  It was dark, my new headtorch had behaved really well, I was hungry, but more importantly my brain had unravelled all of the nonsense that had tangled up throughout the day.  In the middle of the week I had carried out an activity that is normally saved for the weekend, and had stumbled upon one of those magic, glowing evenings.
So, why not find a way to let running act as the wardrobe in Narnia and lead you into another place midweek?  Don't listen to them when they say that the whole point of going home is to get a clean shirt to be back at work the next day - go find the life!