All Our Yesterdays

The Beginning

My eyes burn from lack of sleep. Each morning is another fight to live as I force myself away from rest. My muscles ache as they leave the paralyzed form they were once in. Nothing seems to improve besides the fact I now have a visible six pact on my chest.

A pair of headphones hook up to an MP3 that is strapped to my arm. The cord hits my damp clothes with every step I take. The rhythm moving through my body until it reaches my toes; bringing a jump to my step.

The adrenaline in my system picks up and I find myself taking seconds off my mile as I round the corner.

The air blows behind me as I take a deep breath. My mind is cleared as my attention is on the blasting music in my ears.

When friends find out I run 4 miles each morning as a hobby I get asked a lot of questions.

First: "If I'm training for a marathon?"

I'm not training for anything special nor do I plan to in the future. Running is a slow addiction, it's a thrill I found myself doing in grade school. Carter keeps telling me to go to the gym, but I can't. I loathe running indoors. Especially on a track, it's just not the same...feels absolutely depressing.

Second: "What do I think about?"

Thinking isn't hard to do, it's shutting your mind off that's the tricky part. Still, before my mind goes completely blank I do think about things. I think about family. I think about Carter and her future; I think about my future. Where I see myself in a few years time. But most of the time I think about the past. The sacrifices I've made to have everything I need today. My dads smile when he watched me score home in T-ball and the last thing my mom said to me. Like I said, it's easy to think.

For me, running is about getting away from everything else and listening to the sounds of nature, being able to smell the trees and fresh air. To feel the ground, grass, and mud beneath your feet. My favorite part though, is to be able to see the sky above and feel the morning sun start to heat up the day ahead.

The last thing someone expects to hear is that running is relaxing. But you don't know the true feeling of a 5 a.m jog until you pull yourself from the comfort of your sheets and actually begin.

My calves start to tighten as I find my speed. The morning dew still settles on the freshly cut grass in the park, damping the front of my Nikes.

Sometimes I wish I had someone running beside me. But then again, it's nice to get away.

Trying every morning to get Carter to come with me never seems to work out. I usually get the same response - a groggily noise coming from under her sheets - "I'm not a runner. If there was an award for running I'd receive 'the snails pace'".

I blame myself for her sarcasm.

My heart pounds to the beat of my feet racing over the hard ground. Sweat beads my forehead, causing my hair to cling to it as my throat aches for air, more air. The delicious rush of wind passes my face, thrilling me. My muscles stretch, pushing harder. My pace evens out and my legs make the gravel road fly under me.

The sun begins to peak over the buildings in the distance causing the night to slowly fade away.

Pushing harder, I find the need to get in that last quarter mile before making my way back home. I can hear the noise of the morning city coming alive as the early commuters start their day. Despite the headphones in my ears, the music doesn't stop me from feeling the morning excitement.

Looking down at my watch I see the time flash. I've still got an hour before Carter even has to think about getting ready for school. If I make it home in 10 minute that will give me enough time to shower and hopefully slip in a quick nap.