A Bridge
This is beautiful, thank you Maria.
This morning I woke up an hour before my alarm. I kept turning over and trying to go back to sleep. I caught sight of myself in the mirror, buried under the covers, looking like the word whimper personified.
40 minutes later I was running East across the Calvert St. bridge with the sun in my eyes, breathing for the first time in 24 hours. It was so bright I closed my eyes for a moment, then for a moment longer, until I was running with my eyes closed. I could feel the people on either side of me.... hear their footsteps, breathing, their clothes rustling. The texture of the pebbled sidewalk, the heat of the sun, and feeling the air moving over the bridge were enough to keep me moving in the right direction, not coming close to colliding with anyone or tripping.
It’s hard to explain how that felt. A little bit of wonder on that bridge, along with a confidence that came with the steady rhythm of movement. Breathing in two counts, right foot lands, out two, left foot lands. It is possible to not veer in direction even while not seeing the path. ok. i see. ok.
Blisters I’d tried to coddle with band-aids split at the far side of the bridge. I felt a double hot-cold slash of pain as the skin over my ankle tendons opened raw and wet, and I kept running. What else is there to do?
I felt so exhilarated the first time I ran across that bridge without stopping. Too bad I haven’t tried it since! I admire your drive to get up and run before work in the morning. Can I have some of that? ;)
*sends happy running vibes*
you’ve been a good girl with the yoga and the gym, don’t be hard on yourself, you rock :)
the only times i’m ever a “good” runner are when i’m in complete emotional hell and need meditation and endorphins.
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