Running has many nicknames.

Some call it torture;

Others call it peace.

 

For me, running is refuge.

It’s safety from the storm called life:

A space of quiet

In a constant thunderstorm.

 

Running is poetry in motion:

A connection of mind, body, and nature

That is present nowhere else in this world.

 

The flawless relation between foot and ground

Followed by the perfect fluid motion

Of muscle, bone, and breath

Has no comparison.

 

Falling in love with running,

Is like having spent your whole life handwriting notes,

And someone hands you a keyboard.

 

If the universe is the entire English language,

Running is my dictionary.

 

I love running like I love breathing;

It’s natural and genuine.

It’s less passionate and more comfortable.

 

Running isn’t a wild mistress;

It’s an old and loyal friend.

Never too busy for your problems,

And always down for a date at sunrise.