Every night, every week, every month, all year. I’m out there. Running. When I see my moon reflected hood shape against the tarred road, I know I’m putting the work in.
The work that will help me stay in shape to deal with the mountain of problems I face. The work that will calm my evil intentions and feed my soul.
Like the protagonist in a B rated boxing movie, I move to overcome, to return, to prove.
But it’s more than that.
My cathartic ritual uses no outside stimulation, no music, no phone, no useless, repetitive thinking. Just silence.
It’s when the answers come. It’s when the ideas come. It’s when my spiritual connection gets connected.
Just the padding of my Nikes.
It’s way beyond the physical. It’s the moving aliveness in my body that pulls me to the street.
Creativity gushes like a fire hose. It takes my breath away.