I run to escape reality as it stands beside me at the starting line, muddled and unclear. Throwing my feet into the pavement —first the left and then the right— I run for clarity, for peace of mind, to put distance between myself and my confusion. I run to pass the day’s stress down through my legs, into my feet, leaving my worried impressions as I push of and carry on. I run to escape my own tired frailty; If I’m going to collapse into my pillow at the end of the day, I want it to have been worth it. I want to have been carried by no mechanical aid and no strength but my own.

In as much as I run to heal, I run to soak my feet and dirty my shins. I run to exhaust. I run to break.


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