It seems it has been years since I have run.

My entire self aches,

the stretch to tie my shoes an infinite distance.

I shuffle at first. This is not running!

The enemy-brain starts its chant of criticisms;

lists my failures. Running, for me, appears to be a contact sport.

Mile one, like so many things in my life—a battle against myself.

Mile two, something simple happens.

My body remembers.

The sun hits my face at the exact angle so as to inflict a smile.

I pass an elderly lady on her bicycle who appears full of joy.

My muscles cry out to me—why have you neglected us so long?

My feet crunch an embarrassment of lovely fall leaves.

My thighs loosen, my shoulders relax, my body unfolds.

I won’t travel far today. It’s been awhile, I know my limits.

I go far enough to smile at a few strangers.

To feel my pace lengthen and even out.

The one blessing I yearn for all my days is there—a quiet mind.

I feel the abundance of the day.

I feel the abundance of my ability to move.

I feel grace.

My body purrs.

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Editorial Assisstant: Kathryn Muyskens, Editor: Catherine Monkman

Photo: Pixabay