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.
On my way back through the city I pass the business man walking down to the subway, awaiting his transportation. A mother hands her kid a healthy sack lunch as she gets on the school bus. And finally...wait, where's the college student?
My head whips to the side as I see a door open and a frustrated young man approach. He frantically tries locking the door to his apartment building before racing down the welcoming steps.
Smiling to myself I give him a nod. "Been there." He just replies with an irritated look.
Understandable, I shrug.
Each morning I pass the same three type of people on my way back home. Their morning routine is something I can imagine just by a quick glance in their direction.
The business man who wakes up an hour early to take a decent shower. Then on his way out regularly checks the hundred dollar watch supporting his right wrist as his left hand grips his briefcase. No matter how long his shower takes you can still see the oil he applies to his nicely combed hair that barely covers the bald spot in the back.
Mothers wake their tired children as they get their school clothes out. The lunch they make consisting of a crusted sandwich, apple slices and some fruit snacks. Although they don't show it in front of the kids you can tell by the bags under their eyes that they have been up all night banking paychecks only to be sent straight to the electric bills.
I can always tell the slackers from the honor roll students also. I don't know, I guess we can call it a gift. Usually the college students that hit their snooze button for the third time, trying to get in another few minutes before walking through campus, stick out pretty well. By the look on their face you can tell the lecture hall they need to be at in 5 minutes is farthest away from their dorm room and most likely crowded with seats only available in the front row.
I wasn't planning on attending college myself, but my grandmother wouldn't accept that choice. She is the one that pushed me for A's and signed off on all my scholarships. We stayed up for nights that never seemed to end just filling out applications. A few of those nights I'd find myself drifting off in the chair, others times, it was my grandmother. Sometimes she'd wake me up gently. As for her, I'd let her rest as I locked up the house and checked on Carter one last time.
If it wasn't for my grandmother I wouldn't be where I am right now; for many reasons than I can count.
Spotting my street just a few stoplights away, I begin to slow my speed and start my cool-down phase.
I try to get my breath back to it's original pace while I jog in place in the middle of a crowded intersection, waiting to cross.
Just a little further. I tell myself, when I begin to feel the ache grow stronger.
My eyes drift shut before they slowly open again. I get a few stares from a group of ladies off to the side as one of them starts to giggle. I watch from the corner of my eye as the other two try to push her this way. But much to my relief she doesn't budge.
I'm not as shy as I use to be. If she came over here I would talk to her. Although I'm sure that wouldn't go very far. Maybe a drink or a small dinner date, but that's all I see happening. It's the commitment thing that pulls women away. My parents had an amazing relationship, and so did my grandparents; they aren't the cause for this. It's my baby sister that worries me. The idea of living up to her approval and making sure she doesn't feel abandoned is why I'm still single and making grilled cheese sandwiches twice a week. We are extremely close and never in a light-year do I think about leaving her side to chase after a girl that may, or may not, be in my future. Carter is all I have, and I'm all she looks up too; nothing will come between that.
The WALK sign signals and the crowd slowly steps off the curb. Flashing a quick smile in their direction I move forward as the the timer counts down.
I'm coming to a close with my morning run and it's not long before my feet finally slow to a stop.
My chest heavies for a few seconds as I pace back and forth in front of my door. My hands go up to rest on my side where I can feel abs forming on my chest.
Carter finds it disgusting when I show her. Although, I think that's because the view of her brothers chest hair making a line straight down to his belly button is kind of gross. I often think of shaving it but a bare chest doesn't seem to suit me.
It's not like I have a girlfriend to ask what she prefers.
Hair? No hair? Hair? No hair?
I think it's safe to say women like their men with hair.
Walking up the stairs of my building I make sure not to go extremely slow the way I find myself doing most mornings.
The stairs get easier every day the more I run. Four years ago I would have never taken the stairs willingly. Of course, four years ago I wasn't running. Carter was only 8 years old and I never felt comfortable leaving her alone the way I do now.
However, I needed to run. I use to run as a kid to clear the bad memories and I needed to run four years ago to forget about my grandmothers passing. I pushed as best I could to make that happen.
The first few months I called Elizabeth, our next door neighbor, to stay with her for an hour until I got back. Her and Carter use to hang out and for awhile she acted as a motherly figure. Although nothing would ever come between us, she's a senior in high school and I'm nearing 30.
A little while later the calls stopped as she prepared for college and packed up. I would have called Mrs. Crimbleton from downstairs but Carter begged me not to.
I believe that we are in a secured building with trusting neighbors so I never made that phone call. Plus, nothing was reported back from Elizabeth during the times that she did watch Carter.
After all this I still found time to run.
At first it was hard, the entire time all I could think about was Carter sleeping soundly and someone breaking in. It wasn't just my intuition either; she felt the same way.
The first time I left her alone, I locked the door, put the home phone next to her bed and didn't stay out longer than 30 minutes. I hurried back only to find her sound asleep the way I left her.
I found myself only running once a week, but soon that turned into twice, then a few times, and now it's nearly every single day if I'm not falling over from the night before.
Sleep is something that I need, but I don't think my love for running will ever truly end.
Reaching above the door frame I feel for the gold key.
I suppress a yawn, exhaustion catching up with me, as I push open the door. The lights are off besides the one lamp by the bathroom. Without hesitating I make my way to the shower.
This is my favorite part of the day. The calm morning followed by an icy shower, where I'll stand for 10 minutes just soaking in the cool water as it runs down my spine.
This is my time to think. I get a chance to clear my mind and figure out my next move. For once I'm not moving nor am I rushing to take Carter to school. As far as anyone is concerned, these few minutes are reserved for me.
I cannot describe how fresh it feels taking a cold shower in the morning. It calms my muscles, wakes me up and makes my bed seem twice as comfortable.
More than likely I'll probably just end up slipping into my boxers and falling asleep above the covers. But none of that matters for at least 8 more minutes.
Every freezing drop hits me with surprise - my body still not use to it. The shampoo runs out of my hair leaving only its scent behind as it travels down my body where it disappears past the drainage. My eyes are closed the whole time as I try avoiding the sting of soap when it washes off me. The chilly water gives me shivers but I remain still. The feeling of the water begins to cool down my skin. I don't know where to go from here. I know I should get out, but then what? I could return to my bed and risk over sleeping, or I can return to the kitchen and make myself a cup of coffee.
Slowly I turn off the facet. But I continue to stand there for a while longer, soaking in the moment I have alone. I know I can't stay here all morning as much as I want to. I have things to do, people to see, and before I know it, I'll be hitting that alarm clock as I wake again for another relaxing run.
Sighing one final time I pull back the curtain and grab my towel as I begin drying off my legs, chest and hair before finishing by wrapping the cotton around my waist. Climbing out, I turn off the light and quietly open the door; avoiding any more distractions that might wake Carter.
There have been a lot of people (or it's just been the same person) asking me to post a new story. I wish I could have responded to your reviews sooner but ya'll didn't have accounts. So this is me responding...I've been working on this story since August and I just did a plot twist (in a few chapters you'll see) and have been constantly writing the last few days. I wanted to wait until Thanksgiving to post but I seriously don't think this story will take off like the past. This is me experiencing and seeing if this is a nay or yay? This first chapter I wanna apologize for. I've been tweaking it a lot and it's been a struggle to get my point across. AKA I just left it and I'm moving on.