· “The Gift of Nothing” [nonfiction/print] Stymie (Vol. 4, Issue#2, Autumn & Winter 2011)
When I run, I never walk. It’s not just because I agree with one minor shoe company’s ad that “If you ran without sacrifice, congratulations. You just jogged.” I run without slowing because it is the only time I feel weightless. In the split seconds of my legs slicing the air like scissors, my feet hover above the ground, against gravity. I am a blur of a body, without mass.
One person’s “run” is not another person’s run. I believe “running” to be running 7-minute or less miles—the speed that would get you kicked off a high school men’s cross country team if you ran any slower. When I run, I run. My stride spreads over sidewalk blocks, though I mostly run on the road’s asphalt, facing traffic. I like to have the cars spotlight me.
Running is subtracting the fat kid. Each step pounds the fat kid on the anvil of the road. The more I hit him, the less he will be.
Read the entire essay HERE