Wednesday, August 11, 2010

Run

I run.


Sneakers on, leash in hand, dog at my side. We walk over the stone wall, past the tennis courts, across the dirt parking lot, and into the woods. The trail is over grown, perils hidden by long grass, roots to catch your feet, broken limbs to trip over, uneven ground, sudden dips. I’ve taken my share of tumbles. But most of the time, when I run, I am graceful and fleet of foot. No longer the girl who can’t throw a ball nevermind catch one, no longer the girl chosen last for the team. No, I am a gazelle leaping over obstacles, my feet barely touching the ground, legs long. I run. Like a dream. 

I run.

Past briars and thorns, ducking beneath branches hanging over the trail. My calves are splattered with dried mud and long scratches from the saw grass. I can feel the sweat running down my neck, my hair sticking to my face. I run, finding the new trail, clean and shorn, down through the trees and back around to the power lines again. Second wind. I run. Fast, faster, skipping over clumps of dirt, veering around the mud holes, the sun hot, the air heavy, until at last I hit the field where the girls play field hockey. A vast, green cool down.

I run.

Because when I run I feel more like myself.

5 comments:

  1. This is where you got me.
    I get out of bed in the morning and my feet hurt.
    Run?
    Coming honey!!!

    ReplyDelete
  2. I really liked that; it was empowering and beautiful. Unfortunately, if i were to write something akin to this, it'd very likely be titled, "I sleep." :-D

    ReplyDelete
  3. ah, I know what you mean, actually; if there was an olympic event called sleeping in, I would totally win, hands down. I am the Queen of sleeping in. Ask anyone in family.

    ReplyDelete
  4. Beautiful Marcy. I love running, too, but I don't do trails. I would definitely trip over tree roots and rocks.

    ReplyDelete

If you're interested in my blog I'm interested in your comments.