Running

I sweep aside thoughts of my half finished bedroom, the leaky tap and untidy house.

I strip naked of my dress pants, leather shoes, pushup bra and silky knickers.

I don comfortable cotton ones, a contraption that immobilizes my breasts, white running socks, a black hoodie, black track pants, a bright pink sweat shirt and the two items that always come along- a beloved pair of well worn runners and my lucky running cap.

No need for sunglasses, the sky is grey.

I strap the dog leash around my waist, stretch up high, bend down low and declare:

“I’m going for a run”

I growl and show my muscles to smiling kids who know I’ve been cranky since I woke up.

And out the door I go.

The dog pulls me toward a bush to relieve himself and I feel the cold penetrate the outer layer of my body.

I assure myself it won’t last.

I break into a run – a slow run.

I check my form - shoulders down, chest up, the core guiding my way.

The dog pulls again. He has his usual peeing grounds.

I hug myself, still cold as I wait.

He knows now that we stop no more.

I leave the houses, roads and cars behind and enter into trees, wild vegetation and pathways carpeted brown, red, yellow, mostly maple leaves.

The rhythm of my breath plays along with the rhythm of my feet hitting the muddy earth.

Warmth spreads outwards.

I feel moisture on my neck.

I ascend a hill towards the grey Humber river, that flows from my left to my right, slowly towards Lake Ontario, adorned along its way by trees whose names I do not know.

I take it in with a deep breath as I smile enjoying the movement of my body, as the dog pants along beside me.

A bulldog is off leash on the path ahead. We meet this animal regularly and the dogs don’t like each other.

The man notices me stopped in the distance with my sitting brown and white Aussie by my side.

“Viens ici” he calls. He black and white canine doesn’t move, his glare intent on Shep.

The man reattaches the leash and we approach.

I greet him. Our dogs growl at each other. Mine struggles to get to his. I pull him back. We pass them but my finger is throbbing after the exchange.

We resume our run. The pain quickly dissipates as we approach the expanse ahead. There is just one ray of sunlight illuminating a boat in the middle of the panoramic water. Golden sparkles surround it.

I contemplate the sight and imagine myself on the boat, bobbing in the beauty.

I take it with me as I turn back, my return journey.

I look down to see how my companion is doing and find his tongue hanging out the right side of his mouth. The pink flesh flapping around never fails to make me chuckle. I notice I am not tired, not out of breath, nothing is compressing my heart as it used to in the early days of running when every step held some kind of suffering. I used to dream of this day. I feel victorious.

No fishermen line the riverbank today. Old flowers lie where someone drowned. There is a new graffiti in bright blue, white and black. A pigeon hides under the bridge cooing. Trees have been cut down, so I see more of the river. Their stumps showing freshly cut insides.

My thoughts wander to my kids, my finances, my friends, my issues. Numerous solutions come. I leave them all, I let them be, choosing none for now, attaching to no thing, no body, no concept, no philosophy.

I approach the hill, my finish line. There is no question I will not stop. I tilt slightly forward, feeling the stretch at the back of my calves and maintain my pace. I focus, intent on climbing without tiring. No other thoughts obstruct me.

At the top, I stop and walk the rest of the way home, without having to catch my breath.

In the shower I stretch, allowing the water to take the sweat from my scalp, all the way down to my toes. I close my eyes and feel every drop as it pours over my skin. I am only aware of words in my mind.

Water

Sound

Light

Beautiful white machine of flesh, muscle, bone, blood, tendon...

I am aware of shoulders, breasts, hips, toes.

I smell of fruit and lavender.

It all stops and I fold my hair in a Dora the Explorer towel that smells a little of my baby girl.

Then I take a bright blue one and erase the droplets from my skin.

It is warm enough to stand naked as I brush hair, teeth, floss, moisturize.

I pick khaki pants, a black sweatshirt, pokadot socks, a white silk bra, brown cotton undies and brown sneakers.

I face the day. Where do I begin? How can I keep this focus, this feeling, this energy?

I take my brown leather bound journal and my purple ink pen. I lie on my belly on my white and baby blue quilt in my half finished bedroom. And as my children laugh and roughhouse below, I write it all down.