It’s pathetic of me to say but I haven’t run in the great outdoors since Monhegan’s trail run. Too hot. Too congested. Too many cars. Too sketchy. I have a million reasons why I won’t run in my neighborhood. The very name “NEIGHBORhood” is laughable. What neighbors? Oh, you mean the strangers coming and going? Living in the boxes next to me? The ones who give me blank stares when I try to wave hello. Those neighbors? I don’t know them enough to be nice let alone neighborly. Aint happening.
So. I stick to my treadmill. My gerbil cage. I don’t mind it. My footfalls are so constant and rhythmical it’s distracting from the task at hand. If anything I fall into a mindless trance with the motion. Yesterday’s run was no different. 3.5 miles in 30 minutes. I zoned out to Tom Petty (Running Down a Dream), Violent Femmes (Kiss Off), Adel (Rolling in the Deep), Ten Year Vamp (Rockstar), Tori Amos (Big Wheel), 10,000 Maniacs (Scorpio Rising), among others. I’m not training for anything specific like I thought I would (more on that later). So, I run just to run. I’m having some spinal tests done at the end of the month so I want to run while I still am able. I like staring at President Bush’s letter to my father. Honor Thy Father. I stare until my eyes blur with tears and I’m no longer seeing anything in particular. It’s the same as running with my eyes closed. When I get to the point where I no longer see or feel anything worthwhile. Until I stop.
Everything reality related comes crashing back when I stop. Cars driving too fast around my corner. The cats crying for Kisa. Darkness descending on the room (I really should learn to turn on a light before I start). The fact that I’m tired. Bra burn. The pain sharpens to a pierced point when I step into the shower and the cold water hits the burns. I welcome the pain. To me they are bragging burns. I’ve run hard enough to bleed.