The Eye of the Storm

I grab my black Nike running shoes and hurriedly put them on in my small student room. I am wearing blue Adidas tracksuit bottoms and a green Ireland football shirt. I step outside of my house along the busy Bristol Road in Selly Oak, Birmingham. The time is 6.45 pm and it is getting dark. The cars make their way along the busy road in rush hour. Each car has a different driver and each driver has a different story. Stories. As numerous as the leaves in Autumn, all with different textures and colours and yet they are all powefully linked together. My story begins with the first movement of my right leg. The sound of a bus braking noisily fails to break my concentration. The second movement, the third, the fourth, the fifth and the sixth. I am warming up. Legs are close together, eyes are straight ahead and I feel at ease.

I keep running. The 60th movement, the 70th and the 80th. Student couples are smiling hand in hand, beautiful blonds are walking fast and an obese man with a Subway takeaway and stained red t-shirt looks grumpy. I keep running. The 110th movement, the 120th movement…the 130th movement. I pass The Soak and The Goose. 20 yards from each other they stand and yet a world seperates them. The Soak, young students, pints of Fosters for £1.95, smoking not frowned upon but not appreciated either and lazy, bubbly, excited, flirty, insecure, over-pressurised and debt ridden; this is my IPOD generation. And the Goose, fifty somethings, working class, slightly overweight, faded denim jeans with no belt, large laughs and a few gold teeth, pints of ale and smoking as norm.

I keep running. The 220th movement, the 230th movement and the 240th movement. Running is my drug of choice; the more I run, the longer it takes to reach a high. A teenage lad see’s my Irish shirt and gives me a thumbs up. Tesco Express. Open 24/7 with a cashpoint. Utopia. Queues are long. Can’t comment too much. I’m running. I’m getting closer to the high. I must keep running.

Gunbarrels. Memories of the YellowCard, larger, korfball uni team, no mirror in men toilets and bog standard pool players. Cross the road. I keep running. The 380th movement, the 390th movement…I’m getting closer. I am breathing harder and harder. My eyes focus, my heart prepares herself and my brain kicks into action. This is such a blissful moment. Harder, harder, I must keep running. Saliva in my mouth, the King Edwards school, crispy leaves in abundance, a pretty Chinese lady on a bicycle and a SLK Mercerdes in chrome by the traffic-lights. Keep running!

Bus stop. A tall bald man gets off with a Sainsburys carrier bag. I run past him. I can see him looking at me from the corner of my eye. I get that a lot when I run. As if it is alien to run at 6.57pm on a Thursday night. I love to run. I am getting so close to the prize. I must keep running!

Another traffic light, another bus stop, boring, bored, cross-roads, leaves, Aston Martin, alert, traffic light, red, alert, amber, alert, green and all systems are go. I am in the zone, I am in the vibe and I running harder and harder just to keep up. Such a feeling. Tired, exhausted, fight, harder, must, fight, harder, such a great feeling, don’t, ever, give, up! Mental strength. Military style mental strength. “Keep running you mug!” Just never give up. Never. Harder, faster, sweating, burning…

Like lights it hits me. I am stunned by her beauty. My head moves back in recognisition of this emotion that fills my veins and arteries. I am completely free. The cage door hasn’t been as much opened as it has been blown off its hinges. Such a violent burst of freedom. All the bad things in this perverted world fade away. Rape, violence, murder, hate, war, famine, poverty, racism, nuclear weapons, greed, envy, injustice, fear, depression and darkness melt pathetically away. They cannot stand to fight against the light. Freedom. I am in my element. Nothing can stop me from achieving my goals. Nothing can stop me from being all that I can be. I know this because I know. And that is all that matters. My dreams and ambitions rush before my cornea and my very being stands in awe of such potential achievement. Not boundaries, not powerful men, not present circumstances, not future circumstances nor hard situations can hold me back. Five ways. I stop running. I gasp, I breathe, my arms fall to my knees, I pant and I sweat. Freedom has been served. Running is my drug of choice. How I love it. Peace.