When I run, I am at peace. I am living one breath at a time. I am whole-heartedly aware of every fibre of my being.
It is my communion. It is my solitude. It is everything to me.
When I can’t run, I feel agitated. It makes the winter feel long and bleak. When I am not running, I feel an emptiness. I crave it when I have to step away for a long time.
Running has been my sanity in this crazy world. It has been my serenity. My peace. It is the gentle hand that lifts me up out of the pits of hell; it is the soft voice that tells me I am worthwhile.
Today, my heart is broken. Of all the bad news that flits across the screen each day, this is the first moment that I have ever felt instantly gutted. My soul is crying out for my brothers and sisters whose celebration has been devastated. Tears well up in my eyes uncontrollably every time that I think of our shattered landscape.
Running isn’t political. It isn’t elite; it isn’t polarizing. From the beginning, humans have been born to run. The fact that someone has stolen this innocence has me completely twisted in agony. I want to cry out, to wrap my arms around my running family and weep.
I want to scream and shout, to curse anyone who would steal our peace, our happiness. I want to rail against the darkness, beating my fists against this pain that keeps rising up in my chest.
I want to run until the hurt goes away.