the happy runner

“Do you feel happy to be alive?”

Pink Scarf: “I’m alive, my wife is not, my daughter is my life… when I am no longer living, will I have died happy?… am I happy?…”

. . .

As pink scarf shifts with the other 12, I pause to see them divide, divide again, and again with their stories +1.

. . .

Stepping back and up, I chose to make a reverse turn; carrying the weight of Pink Scarf’s words, my body runs away, leaving me in chase.

Double the run, I would have shamelessly strutted, now, a concept of humility has taken harbor in my conscience. That run, it feels good in completion, an animalistic and primal achievement… glad it’s over! I hate that I love to run.

Why do I run? I can run away from the things I cannot run away from.

Back in high school, I was invisible and being a good runner was valuable. I committed to the visual sportsmanship of the sport but I did not choose this. I was not the best, I didn’t need that pressure, I was good for I was a slave to the sport. I ran when I wasn’t suppose to, I ran as an excuse, I ran until I found a finish line.

…now, I look for excuses to not run…

…but running makes me happy…