You see, I’ve never really been a runner. “You’re going to be timed on how fast you can run four times around this track.” “We’re going to test you on your ability to run back and forth while the time to meet your goal decreases.” No. Just, no. I’ve never really been a runner. I like facing my problems head on, with an AR-15 in my hand. Yeah, it’s like that.
I’ve been running for the past few days: physically. I’ve been running for the past month and a half: mentally—from my problems. I run in order to sit on a bench at a park that brings back bittersweet memories. Why? I ask myself this question. Why am I even here? Because it’s a piece of me. Everything that has twisted, bent and molded me into what I am today, is a piece of me. I’m a little bent. Maybe chipping away at some places, dents here and there. Why? Because I’m running, and, might I add: I’ve never really been a runner.