It’s: passion, inspiration, catharsis and family.
Even though it’s struggle, I never survive the day without
Living in my discovery of running.
By absorbing in the air, the heat and the rain, I feel human, I feel alive.
I visualize the falling leaves surrounded by mud, trees, fields.
Inspired by what lies ahead of me: girl’s backs I want to pass, flags I want to surge by, sometimes experiencing the sky change to dusk as I continue to move through each stride. My arms move in constant motion with my legs, my mind clears and I hear one breath after another. Running is art; it’s home.
Switching gears from jog to sprint
Having the ability to fight when I am alone.
It’s self-knowledge and therapy to focus and concentrate on controlling my body. No one else can train and push my body, and no one else can control it.
Energy and accomplishment sewed the wounds I had boarded off.
Sexual Assault. Aliened. Liar, Liar, Liar, came from every set of eyes.
Running is therapy.
Pain eases as I go through the motions, intrinsic to my soul.
Running is confidence, it’s resilient, it’s sanity to visualize each moment aesthetically.
It’s: me.