Running away.

Lace up. 

Step outside. 

Begin. 

Move evenly, raising your feet high enough to clear debris left by the vanishing autumn. 

Bend your elbows, bringing a gentle, rhythmic swing to your gait. 

Move. The first mile passes. Then the second. The third brings cold air and tears to your eyes. 

Onward. 

The fourth and fifth push your mind. Thoughts overflowing, you’ll feel at home in this. 

Sixth mile. Nothingness. Empty inside except for your feet pushing into an unforgiving slab of concrete, slowly eroding under your relentless and habitual event. 

Seventh. You force yourself to find endurance. Lungs are stinging. You take the opportunity to test your limit, breaking into a wild and careless sprint. Becoming more controlled as your muscles strain to keep up with your will. Then a release, and equilibrium. Back on pace. 

Eighth. Ninth. Tenth. Bargaining. 

You are powerful. Your body has existed in a thousand other lives to bring you to this place, where your fitful and careless mind competes with the agony of physical exhaustion. 

You are a woman. Viewed by the world as weaker than your male counterparts. But yet you make life inside of you. Bear children, a duty incomprehensible to a man. 

Your hips are wider, less aerodynamic than a mans. Muscles not as sinuous, legs not quite so long. Your mind is incessant, and can contemplate more in a minute than most in a day. You’ve found peace in your subtle victory. 

And then, it’s over. Until the sun comes into mornings view and you begin again.