The hushed, vigorous taps of the rubber against the concrete sidewalk were overpowered by the music flowing into my ears, the same familiar tree dropping acorns to the flock of seven crows. I took a turn just before they fly away. The sun changes from day to day. Some days the sun glares down at me, others it meekly peeks out of the clouds, they go on in the same tussle for dominance and I have chosen not to take sides—although the sun has wronged me many times. The same red berry bush to my left, the woman’s tabby cat staring with hungry eyes at the lizard running past. Every time I go I change my route, in an attempt to find a new and unfamiliar path or a corner I haven’t noticed, a bird I’ve never seen, a flower I haven’t smelled.
As I run, I love to hear the music in my ears, pushing for me to run on, making my legs move rhythmically, sometimes dancing as I run—hoping no one was around to see the troublesome twirl. One hour of escape and of complete freedom. Although the annoying little beg for mercy from my calves would disagree, this one hour is always a highlight of my day. It is always the perfect solution.
Although to some people running may be their own personal hell on earth, running is a delicacy of time to me. The runner’s high that jumps a quarter of a mile in gives me the same adrenaline rush that I get when watching Get Out or when riding Ghost Rider at Knotts. The self-produced warmth against the cool wind nearly replicates the warm, gentle hugs from my mom after an emotional day. The satisfaction from the slow fading of the lactic acid buildup feels like the freedom and satisfaction of solving those 1000 piece jigsaw puzzles that I attempted so much when I was smaller. When I stop to drink water it just somehow feels 100 times crisper.
But it’s always after the run that gets to be the best part. I sit and stretch while I think about every step I just took. The beating of my heart slows and speeds up all at the same time as I realize that I’ve run faster than the time prior. The steam from the hot shower grows and grows like the thoughts in my head because it is here after the racing of my blood through my brain and mind that the thoughts truly shoot through each axon and dendrite in and alas ideas and plans and theories, and memories pop into my head all at the same time leading my train of thought back and forth.
Then these thoughts become memories, the ideas either become a reality or work in progress, these theories are put the test, these plans are set into motion. This system has always been what I’m missing. In my freshman and sophomore year, I tried to fill it with fake friends and with a facade of perfection but it only widened the gaping gorge that I tried so hard to conquer and then COVID struck, temporarily covering the hole with a thin sheet of beautiful veneer.
It was then that I discovered the joy that brought me full circle to my source of joy and inspiration today. I found the feeling of freedom and of elation in a time of imprisonment and darkness to fill this pit: the familiar vigorous, hushed taps of the rubber in my soles that was overpowered by the beautifully upbeat sound waves coursing through my eardrums.