Day 520: The Cool Blue Water

It’s night, before dawn, and I am still awake. Or maybe it’s morning and I am up early, before the alarm. Lying motionless in my too-big-for-me empty bed, I am in the far corner by the wall tucked up into the fetal position, with my eyes open. I try not to move until the first alarm goes off. I notice that the room is becoming lighter and the sun is beginning to rise. I break the silence and smush my face back into the pillow with a groan. I am waking up.

It’s time to go. The sun is rising quick now, my 3 alarms are blaring at me to get moving. My eyes are asleep as I pull on my clothes and try in vain to tie my shoes. I consider eating and immediately reconsider it. I look in the mirror and see the disheveled girl I recognize all too well. It’s time to go; it’s time to quiet my soul before the day starts. My brain is busy misfiring and I’m getting confused about what I need with me to leave. I realize I have left the music on. I dip back into my room to quiet Claude Debussy’s “Children's Corner: I. Doctor Gradus Ad Parnassum,” trading in my favorite song for the machine’s gentle hum. No more excuses, it’s time to go. No more waiting.

The air is cold. I am reminded of my childish love of fall and the pain of summer leaving. I can feel the day beginning and am torn between being happy for a new day and being remorseful the old one ended. Each day is passing slowly or quickly based on how I gauge my time. My brain immediately starts in with its processing routine. I feel self-conscious in my thin green shirt, my awkward arms and hands hanging at my sides like dinosaur claws. I try to politely ask my mind to stop critiquing my body, its not even 7 in the morning yet. Finding that my brain is particularly harsh on this day, I try to re-focus on my stride and pushing myself ahead faster. Sometimes I pretend I can outrun my thoughts. I try to listen to my feet connecting with the earth. I breathe. I watch the wind push the trees around. I hear the birds in the trees. I notice I’m still cold and my uncovered arms have goose bumps.

I try to refocus, telling myself that the wind doesn’t carry a chill. My hands disagree. I shake my head. A few strands of dusty brown fall loose and stick to my sweat and salt covered face. I brush them aside. I look up and see a clear sky. I feel as blank as the empty blue. Not a cloud to be found, a finally quiet expanse. My mind has given up its battle for now, knowing it has all day to come back at me. I’ll take the silence as I get it. I am hurting now. The cramp in my side has spread to my lungs and I feel nauseous. My head literally hangs in between heavy breaths. I tell myself it's okay to walk for a minute.

I am running again. I feel my legs under me; my quads pulling me forward and the hamstrings push from behind. The constant coiling and uncoiling of these metal snakes, but I'm not calling the shots. I do not control their speed or pattern. I can't speak for other runners, but running is like writing for me. Once I'm off, I’m not longer in control; the story writes itself and my legs direct the run. I am cruise control. I am a welcome moment of letting go of control.

I am turning left, ducking out of the chilled breeze and into the brambles that catch at my ankles as I head down a patch of single track. Running like a child, trying to leap over branches as fast as I can. My hair is in my face. My arms are above my head avoiding the overgrown brush. I forget about my apartment, my phone, emails, and cars. I am not still wondering if I look disheveled or if I am keeping good pace. I forget that I have work in a few hours, that there are bills to pay, and everything I have to do. I forget it all and am reduced to a little girl running through the woods. I am 5-years old: wild and free and happy.

When the rock and dirt trail ends, I am at the edge of the cold blue water. I take a water break on a big rock. It is silent here, except for the river bubbling beside me. Under the canopy of trees, I watch wildlife go about their morning without alarm clocks, Starbucks, and wrist watches. As my heart beat slows, I can feel my legs itching to get running again. My lungs are ready for more burning from the pollen and fresh air. I stay for one more moment, hoping to engrain the cold blue water in my mind before I head home.