A cluster of neon colors surrounds my size-five feet as I double-knot my tiny running shoes. The neighbor's formidable German shepherd yelps at my favorite highlighter-pink workout outfit as he watches my limbs stretch themselves in preparation for their onslaught. As for me? I'm not entirely sure where I'm hurtling off to, but I'm certain that I'll know once I arrive.
"Horrible" is not a strong enough word to describe the first fifteen minutes of every single one of my runs. Between my legs awkwardly attempting to find their preferred stride, my breathing pattern exhibiting the stability of a seesaw, and my calves begging for mercy, it's difficult to comprehend why I don't simply turn back home. To be honest, I'm still not entirely sure why I keep going; all I know is that if I continue to place one offensively bright sneaker in front of another, things will miraculously improve.
Enter minute twenty of my run. By this point, my being has reached the enviable – and completely legal – runner's high. It is now with a vague hint of a smile that I ascend the next incline of my neighborhood situated between the rolling hills and the mountains. Maybe by this point, I've even been so bold as to leave the security my neighborhood offers in favor of the nearby mountain roads plagued by hairpin turns and blind swerves; there's something about the feeling of invincibility running brings that, to me, makes the thought of being hit by an oncoming driver unaware of the road's conditions disappear entirely. Or maybe it's the fact that I am clad in head-to-toe neon - a driver would have to genuinely exert an effort to miss me.
More time passes; I'm also entirely lost. Unfamiliar road signs like "Black", "Gist", and "Thompson" fill my frame of vision as I grapple for a sense of direction - I could've sworn I knew where I was not two minutes ago. And yet, I know I have reached my destination. As I pause on this plateau nested in the mountains of Northern California and watch the sun peer through the trees ever so demurely, waves of benevolence and comfort envelop my every inch. Never mind the fact that it's only seven in the morning and I have now been out and about for forty minutes - I've chosen to sacrifice a couple hours of rest to allow my small feet to tickle a large mountain.
To me, running isn't merely running; it's life invigorated. It's the sound of the wind coursing through my ears as I gasp for breath; it's my necessary respite from everything except the skies and the hills before me. To run is to seize life by its essence; to run is to chase down dreams one neon-clad step at a time. To run is to feel alive – so very, vibrantly alive.
