As it sits now, I’d call it wonderfully uncomfortable because the soreness in my quadriceps on both legs — a bit higher on the right, more towards the knee on my left — is no less a sign of spring than the things I saw while running the tap for the lactic acid bath both major leg muscles received this weekend.

No matter how long (last year) or short (this year) winter on the treadmill in my basement is, that first time back outside running under blue spring skies and light winds with the temperature hovering right around the freezing mark just after sunsrise makes the previous stretch of indoor training seem like a century. The whirring rubber mat, blue backlit LCD screen, and dozens of forgotten Netflix movies and series experienced via closed captioning for each hour-long pace-maintaining offseason workout are replaced with the open air, soaring hillside views over sections of an ice-free river, and of course the wildlife returning to the region. And for those species that hunker down during the winter in these parts, a return to life of more activity.

I knew it would be a good run when I caught the tell-tale “twee-twee-twee” and the elongated tail of the season’s first robin as I spun past the school and into the neighborhood of townhomes just over a mile into my first outdoor trek of the season. The bird perched on top of a garage peak and let out its cheerful spring song as the sound of my feet scraping through a season of road gravel continued on. March 9, I marked with a quick look at the calendar display on my watch and began to compare it in my head to past seasons. Certainly it was not super early, considering the mild conditions we’ve experienced this winter, but earlier than the previous harbinger of winter’s end last year.

Then the skies opened up as about halfway through my run flocks of Canada geese resumed their northward journey to nesting areas on waters great and small across the upper Midwest. From dozens to multiple hundreds in each line, vee, and at times excitedly unorganized group of the migrants spilled out into the blue above and it was rare not to hear honking overhead. Where they were headed after their groups disbanded and a mated pair staked out their claim — a pothole slough, a small lake, perhaps a parking lot holding pond — was anyone’s guess as I ran the rise along the river and circled the small city park, making the turn back home as I pictured each pond with a pair of adults bookending a set of the golden puffballs to come later in spring.

There, in the undeveloped lots around the blue-and-green jungle gym, slide and swings, a rooster pheasant let loose a two-note crowing and then skittered back into the small brushy draw adjacent to the lone half-built house going up. As I came up out of the bottom and onto the back half repeat of my route in reverse, he sent up one more raspy goodbye.

Against the rising wind which the increasing flocks of geese rode overhead and through the paved neighborhoods now awake with the coos of collared doves and ultimately, the lone spring robin which highlighted my trip, I wound my way back toward home, savoring all of the signs of spring in the rapidly warming morning and ignoring the seasonal inexperience of the open stride allowed by each outside run.

Free from the confines of the plastic handrails on the treadmill, I checked my pace and watched mile five dip below eight minutes and kept things close to that on the last few long rises that led to my neighborhood and the end of the well-rehearsed seven-miler, which would average just over last year’s mean of 8:05. Not bad, considering it was my inaugural run of a season that hopefully again will last into November; and it was even better to have experienced it with all of the signs of life returning to the region around me … in our outdoors.