until i run again
one foot pounds the path, the toes directing gravity to bend the forefoot back. the foot disappears behind me.
i can see the sneakers clearly - as if i was really running. my generic gray running shoes with mesh on top, and a white rubber lip, lightly marked.
what’s more, i can feel the slam of my feet through the spongy sole onto the slightly-less-spongy running path. my calf muscles stretching and receding.
this wasn't a dream - it was how i woke this morning. i lay in bed for minutes - first enjoying the tactile sensations of the memory, then fascinated by the clarity. eventually i found gratitude, though it was tinged with sadness.
it wasn’t long ago that i was running around 60 kilometers a week - along rivers, through semi-wild gardens, and deep suburbia. in those days, i could easily run 10 kilometers without breaking a sweat.
and now, i’m in pain, recovering from injuries and surgery. my legs have become weaker with disuse. compounding that, i live in a small village where running routes blur into one another.
i’m not complaining - i know things will get better. i know that i’ll once again feel humid air hitting my face, see families in parks, and feel myself bounce in place as i wait for traffic to pass.
i long for the freedom of the 'free run' - no burden, not even the ever-present burden of choice - just going where my strong body will take me.
and i know i need to embrace that melancholy to have any chance at running again. the routes will be clear, deliberate, and mine - my other foot will instinctively come into view, propelling me forward.