Running

5 Jan

shoes

It’s a rainy Saturday morning. Baby is taking his morning nap, my sister is staying with him, and I’m hitting the gym. Running. Since BD left it’s become my therapy. Even though I was never the running type, even though I was only 3 months after birth and in terrible shape the day he left, intuitively, I knew that running would make me feel good. So I started with two minute runs. Taking a walk, running for a couple of minutes until I was out of breath and then starting again. Then it was three minutes, five, ten, now I can run up to twenty minutes without stopping.

I run in the park, wind in my hair, sweat trickling down from my forehead to my neck and back, endorphins zooming though my body, and I feel sexy, I feel strong, I feel capable. I don’t listen to music, I listen to the birds, and to my breath, I look at the trees and the grass, and the river and the sky with its clouds, and I try to take in everything, like I’m refilling some stock of optimism in my chest.

At the gym, on the treadmill, it’s a different experience. Music is blasting in my earphones. I like to work out when the gym is crammed and there is an electric vibe of bodies in motion surrounding me, dozens of people together in one place, but each doing their own thing, concentrating on themselves. The hottest thing in the world to me is  a guy running on the treadmill, in the zone, not looking around at anyone else, just being present in the intensity of flexed muscles and heavy breathing.

I warm up, taking the atmosphere in, and then I start to run, and as I do, I take my glasses off, enjoying for once the blurriness, not wanting to see anyone or anything but myself, my needs, my wants, my energy, concentrating on my rhythmic breathing, the warmth of my face, that song that I like. I am a queen and the world is my subordinate, and everything will happen as I demand.

When my heart feels like it’s going to pop out of my chest, that’s when it’s time to slow down to a walk. Head rush, I feel dizzy and happy, sexy and satisfied, able – practically omnipotent. And I think to myself. OK, world, I’m ready for you now. Bring it on.

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