When I’m Running
Seven in the morning is a great time to be up. The city isn’t quite awake yet, it’s not warm enough to be uncomfortable, not cold enough to be chilly.
It’s a good time for a run.
I originally started running because I was told it was the best way to keep type two diabetes in check (and they were right), but as I’ve gotten more into a routine, I’ve come to enjoy it.
For about forty-five minutes, my feet beat the pavement, my heart pounds like a hammer in my chest, and my lungs expand and contract as I regulate my breathing. For just forty-five minutes a day, I’m Busterwolf all over again.
I begin the run from the rear of my apartment complex. It’s a gentle downhill slope to start before crossing to the left and beginning the incline through a small suburb, just west of an old abandoned shoe factory. I’ll run over the highway and make my way to the park before doubling back.
I’m thirty-two years old. I’m physically past my fighting prime, but any fighter will tell you, you can’t just turn your instincts off and on, even if your body won’t keep up anymore. Although I can still fight, it’s not like it used to be, and it never will be again. I may never accept this.
I also use the morning run as a chance to brace myself for the coming day. When I walk in that door, and approach my desk, I’m stepping into the ring. My opponents are going to be the hundred-plus people I call that day. I secure a victory by out-thinking and outmaneuvering them, getting to the heart of their objections so I not only sell them something I believe is of better value than what they’ve got, but make sure that they are comfortable with it when I hang up the phone.
This is how I fight now.
So maybe, when I’m running, I’m not bracing myself for work. Instead, as I run, and my breath quicker, and my heart rate accelerates, I’m preparing for that one last fight. The one last fight that every great fighter has; where they step up against an opponent who takes them to their very limit before falling to the ground, defeated.
And then I realize I’ve been legitimate for two years now. I always feel as though I’m standing above this great abyss, peering over into what my life was, and could be again. I look back behind me at the rising sun and the endless land that represents everything I’ve done, and I know that my last opponent is, indeed, Busterwolf – taking me to my very limits, threatening to pull me down into defeat by tempting me into going back to the old ways.
Quitting this job, stuffing what will fit into a single bag, and heading back into the wild blue yonder.
But I won’t do that. I can’t do that.
And so I turn around, head home, and get ready to get on the phones.
(c) Avery K. Tingle for Modern Magic Enterprises LTD and Nomadic Productions LLC
Post Footer automatically generated by Add Post Footer Plugin for wordpress.
