Run

Months of uncaring sloth meant that one evening when I actually wanted to run, my Asics Tiger Paws had separated itself.

I was shocked. Winter boots maybe. But my running shoes?!

How easily we forget that what we don’t work, we lose the use for. Like limbs. Will. Discipline. Mindfulness.

I got back on the treadmill wearing the mother-in-law’s taichi shoes. They were pristine white and looked so new I tap-danced gingerly across the wet sidewalks on the way to the gym.

As my heavy thighs pound heavily against the merciless drone of the industrious treadmill; I notice my neighbour. He heaves heavily each time he lifts the weights over his head and each time, his eyeballs looked ready to pop.

I try not to focus on the hairs rudely exposed each time he lifts his arms over his head. My mind drifts and I want to hold my breath and clearly I can’t. I gasp. Gently.

I run.

And this is how I become whole again. One run at a time. One primal, pulsating, animalistic, mindless run, at a time.

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