Chasing Down the Demons

When I was a kid, I used to spend hours moping over the differences between my mother and I. She was so petite and graceful. I fell over my own feet and had "sturdy" limbs. She played sports well and could do cartwheels. Playing sports made me feel either more invisible or to much of a spectacle, and attempted cartwheels by throwing myself head and arms first at the ground repeatedly (this did not end well for me, but the ground was always fine). My mother had blond hair and blue eyes. I had brown hair and brown eyes. My mother's hands and ankles were delicate. My own were made to match my size.

There's a lot to be said for being functional. My cousin has such delicate ankles that she once sprained both of them on a trampoline in the same day. In fact, there was a period of about three years where she was constantly in ankle braces. I, despite my many graceful plunges down stairs, halls, sidewalks, carpets, grassy hills, and pavement have yet to break anything (knock on wood). My joints were made for the long haul--like an ox. But oxen don't dance Swan Lake either.

When I started running, it actually started as walking. The walking started as a way to have 30 minutes to myself with music that helped me to pound out my demons. When I finally started to run, it wasn't out of some beautiful moment in a movie where the spirit of the wind and the wings of athleticism allowed me to break the barrier of inactivity. It was angry, emotional music and my own sense that my demons were a little too close. It involved a lot of sweat and an uncomfortable amount of emotion. When I kept running, it became a way and a place for me to be both honestly functional and silently exorcised.

There are a lot of reasons to like being physical and even more reasons to like the performance of it, but one of the most prominent functions it has served in my life is to help me outrun my own demons until I am chasing them. When I run, when I listen to music while I do it, I'm chasing down the things I don't have time to face any other moment in the day. Or maybe it's that I don't have the courage. There's not a lot of time in my world to deal with complicated emotions and thoughts. I just don't have the time or the energy to examine them closely and discover their origin and purpose. I wish I did, sometimes. Sometimes, I don't want that at all. But when I run, I can channel all of those things into what I am being in that very moment--functional. By the time I finish, I've chased my demons out of me and into a moment I can look at like a picture later. Any time I hear that song, I'll remember the thoughts and emotions I worked out in my head. I'll remember the battles I waged against the horned fears and winged insecurities. But I'll also remember how it felt to pound them beneath me, conquering my body and my brain in one solid stride.