Generally speaking, I tend to think the best way to celebrate a holiday is to run. What better way to give thanks than to get out in the crisp fall air and put in 10 miles before packing away a turkey and a couple of pies? What better way to ring in a new year than to threaten your toes with frostbite? But the 4th of July, I think, is for resting. It’s for slow mornings with firework waffles and laundry sorting. It’s for afternoons of games and pie baking. For evenings of playgrounds and picnics and barbecues. It’s for a night of fireworks and anthems.

Though maybe it’d be nice to put in a couple of miles while the lights fall from the sky and the air shakes with explosions. We’ll see.

Note: Somehow, I didn’t post this yesterday. I thought I did, but I didn’t. I’m posting it now. Just fyi, we didn’t go running under the fireworks. Instead, we watched them on tv, danced in the living room, and ate four-berry pie with whipped cream. Good times. Good times.

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