For Kelsey and Cathy, my OT 100m and 200m girls. And for Bailey, because she answers my irritating grammatical questions in the middle of English class. Heart you B.
run run run.
Running was her solace. It was the only place that she could find comfort in the entirely too fucked up world around her. It was her rock when she had none. It was the place that she went when she had no place to go, literally and figuratively.
Run run run.
Down her street, making a left turn at the Forest Hills Pool, and into another subdivision. Run uphill, downhill, and straight ahead. Her life was running because it was something she was good at. She held the school's record for shortest 100m (12.4 seconds) and the shortest 200m (21.41 seconds). She was being scouted by NYU, Dartmouth, Ole Miss, GSU, and UVA. In Coach King's point of view, she was a very lucky girl. But in her point of view, she wasn't.
Run run run.
Her father was never home, and when he was, he and her pregnant mother were fighting. Her brother was taking up smoking -whatever he could find- -runrunrun-, and her best friend was not ever there for her. She could hardly consider her a best friend anymore.
Runrunrun.
Faster and faster she ran down hill, until she was at an all out sprint, what she ran at meets. Her electric pedometer beeped faster and faster, because she had set it to alert her once she had reached her two mile mark. That was what she usually stopped at for the day.
Runrunrun.
Her thighs became parallel with the ground, and her lungs felt like they were going to explode.
Runrunrun.
Faster and faster she ran, her thighs burning, her lungs trying to suck in as much air as possible.
Runrunrun.
She needed this. It was cleansing, and made her feel pure inside.
Runrunrun.
Runrunrun.
She felt clean and whole again. She felt like the Claire Lyons that everyone else saw, but herself. Composed, cool, and strong. She was herself when she ranranran.