I’m heading home to Canada tomorrow so this will be my last run of the summer. I’m going to Sale Water Park. The sun will have vanished in around two hours. It’s warm but not hot – the best running weather.

I cut through the park, head down alongside the roar of the busy road, then across the bridge and down towards the canal. I have to weave through geese before I can concentrate on my footwork on the steps by the boathouse. The tram to Altrincham rattles by above me as I reach the forested part.

I’ve been running this route regularly for more than a year now. The route is so familiar but its colours change on almost every run. Today I pass tangles of blackberry brambles, delicate fuschia pendants and the last of the green leaves. Next month it will be mud, mist and recently-coloured leaves pooling on the ground. Maybe one day – after winter has stolen the gold from autumn – I’ll see snow.

I’ve reached the river now and I’m padding across the bridge, down the track so I can cut left and trace the outline of the lake. Dog walkers whistle for soggy pets to return. We exchange nods. Teenagers slouch on benches. Nike Run Club’s coach Cory What’s-His-Face is cooing in my ear and telling me to do something unexpected.

It’s the perfect time for it – I’m right by the lake. I pause the run. I’ve gotten over feeling like I need to run continuously. These days, each run is a place I can be with my thoughts, and then clear my mind. If I don’t run for a week, my energy feels off.

Anyway, back to the lake. I’ve been swimming here all summer, popping out for a morning paddle or wading in after work. When I’m back from Canada, summer will be gone, and braving the water will be more difficult. I slip off my shoes and socks, climb down and walk in. I still have my shorts on, so I just stand there. I’m in up to my thighs. A line of ducks glide on by and an older gentleman passes by. We nod and smile at each other, knowingly.

It’s time to move along.

I sit on the bench, wipe my feet off and put my socks and shoes back on. A little walk, and then back into the run. I find the path that leads back to the river. A couple are picking apples from a tree along the path. They have a contraption so they can reach the ones at the top. Now I’m at the bridge where I fell and cracked my knee open last year. I’m always slower along here now. I make it over and into the forest, and now, through the meadow. I like this part – I’ve spent so much time in this space, moving and thinking. I cut through the makeshift path through the trees which leads to the sports fields. It’s empty now. Down the road, back to the park.

Sweaty, tired, and fully grounded, I'm home. I feel like my own person again.

It's my first run back in Canada and summer is in full blaze. I'm going to Lake Ontario.

It’s almost 30 degrees – that’s way muggier than I’m used to. The humidity is wild already so I leave early to avoid the midday heat. I’m wearing fewer clothes than usual, and that feels nice.

I’ve never run this route before, but I know the area well. I grew up around here. I usually veer right and go through the forested valley, but I want to see the lake this time. I want to feel the water. It’s been 20 months since I last saw it – God knows how long since I’ve actually been in it.

So, I take a left at the end of the driveway, then a right. Let’s take the backroad. No one wants to run along Danforth, always heaving with cars. My legs want to stride out not trip over people dawdling outside shops. I’m already through the alley and past the Main Street subway station. Then up, up, up across the bridge above the tracks, racing the 506 Carlton streetcar; down the other side and I’m approaching the top of the hill. Here comes my descent. Now I’m in The Beaches, passing the Victorian houses. Brief pause to admire white and fuschia and deep yellow flowers, growing tall in front yards. There’s a plaque outside classical pianist Glenn Gould’s childhood home. Nice breather and then onwards across Queen Street. I’m padding past a row of porches with swinging benches and flowing, white drapes that give shade when the sun gets too fierce.

Onto the boardwalk, and there it is. Lake Ontario. It’s been too long. I stop, pause my music, pause coach Cory What’s-His-Face and his consistent pep talks, pause my run. I slip off my shoes and socks, feel the sand on my feet. Lake Ontario has a beach, so access to the water is easy. I walk right in. Listen to the waves, feel the laps around my ankles. A few people are dotted across the beach. They’re walking dogs, they’re sitting on idyllic muskoka chairs. I sit too now, at the edge of the water, still. Being still helps me soak everything in.

It’s time to make a move. I sit on the beach, wipe my feet off and put my socks and shoes back on. A little walk back along the boardwalk, and then back into the run. I’m dodging dogs, smiling at other runners. Back up to Queen, swing a right on Kingston. Now I’m staring up the hill, time for its upward revenge. What timing too – the sun is strong and the heat is the type you can see as it distorts the pavement in front of you. A man sitting out the front of an old age home cheers me on and it powers me up the last 500 metres of the hill. At last I’m back on Main Street. I flip the bird at some cat callers in a car. I’m up, over the bridge, past the station. Then through the alleyway, down the back street.

Sweaty, tired, and fully grounded, I’m home. I feel like my own person again.

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