I maintained a morning running routine for several years, always at a fixed time around 7 AM along the same route.

One day I suddenly woke up at around 4 in the morning. I tossed and turned unable to fall back asleep, so I thought I might as well get up and go for a run. I took the same route as always, and when I reached the riverbank, I discovered a phone on the ground. I picked it up and pressed the power button—the home screen displayed a suicide note.

Immediately a clear instruction formed in my mind to keep running along the riverbank. Not far ahead, I spotted a down jacket floating in the river. I jumped in and found a girl inside. Fortunately, she was rescued and revived.

After that day, I never went morning running again.

Later, I reflected on how my one year of consistent morning running felt like it had been predetermined—existing solely to save that stranger girl on that particular day. What's even more unsettling is that from that moment on, I genuinely lost all desire to go morning running.

I suppose this also means that my mission for morning running had been completed.