Running

I've been running for months.
Running from my fear.
Running from my anxiety.
Running from my thoughts.
Running from being alone.
Running from being myself.

I've been standing still all this time, too.
While running from all these things, I've made no progress. I haven't moved from the place I sat when he told me he didn't want to be married to me anymore. I've been stuck in that seat on that patio at that restaurant in that neighborhood, not eating the food on the plate in front of me, sick to my stomach.

This morning my alarm rang out at 5 o'clock. Not because I needed to get up for work, but because I needed to stop running, but start running again.

I got up. Got dressed. Went to the gym. Saw my old 5 a.m. gym pals, who I haven't seen in a while, because I've been too busy running but standing still for the past few months.

I got on the treadmill. Turned the speed up.

6.0
6.3
6.5
6.8
7.2
8.0
8.5

I was running. Fast. My heart was pounding. It ached. It hadn't had to work that hard in some time. While I've been standing still, my heart has atrophied. This morning I made it work. I reminded it how it feels to beat hard. I reminded myself that I still have a heart in there.

I'm going to run again. Some days it might be slow and steady, other days it might be hard and fast. I'm going to run without standing still. I'm going to face all this terribleness and run my way through it, but not from it, feeling every heart beat along the way.