Unrestrained

That first long run, I was running for my life. Running out of that 2am shroud of guilt and grief. Running away from that knife under my pillow that sang a siren song of escape into my ear. Running toward a peace I was unsure even existed for me in this world. Running in search of a reason to keep breathing. With each tear-streaked footprint left in the sandy trail, a ghost fell into step beside me. A ghost with rakish dark curls and a devastating grin who had planned to spend a mortal lifetime chasing me to the ends of the Earth. Instead, he had chased me out the door at dusk two years ago, enticed by my amorish taunts, and never came home. Headlights careened out of the darkness and Death called my name. But fate was thwarted by a lionhearted lover who gave his last breath so I could continue this terrestrial race. Catatonic with grief, I was finally dragged from my hero's side, leaving the shattered pieces of my heart strewn among the blood and bouquets by the side of the road. A grotesque homage to an incandescent life. And now, he was running beside me again. Our love so profound it had echoed through time and projected an ephemeral specter onto my exhausted mind. He held my hand as I ran through an avalanche of exquisitely painful memories, handed me pieces of my broken heart as I fumbled to fit them back together. His laughter carried me down miles of rooted trails and into meadows humming with the promise of tranquility. Indefatigable and with a wild, otherworldly joy, his luminous spirit inspired me into a sweaty, hopeful dawn.

In the beginning, I was running to forget. I was running to remember. Spurred onward by fragmented shards of memory, dripping with the blood of my perceived sins. Swept along by a seductive pulse of catecholamines, whispering promises of a finish line free from despair. Only when the metronome of my beating heart matched the grounding tempo of my feet catching the earth, could I open Pandora's box. That ominous chest in a dusty attic corner of our brains where we imprison our most haunting thoughts and sinister visions. While in motion I could unpack the somber relics, replay the grim spools of film, and not feel like I was going to implode under the crushing weight of memories. I could sort through the debris, setting aside the highlights of happiness and moments of bliss, then lay to rest the darkest pages of my morbid memoir alongside the catacombs of my unanswered prayers. As day broke over the horizon I began to notice beads of hope glistening among the morning dew. Birdsong, previously muted, now spooled a melody of promise along sun-dappled branches. As the volume rose, I discovered a new surge of energy. A natal vitality, flickering and sputtering into life, stoked by the auspicious breeze of an equinox. The rising flames urged me onward, out of reach of the clawing hands of misery that threatened to drag me back to the shadowlands of mourning. They burned through the shackles of anguish that had bound me for years. And finally, as Apollo dragged his chariot of fire across the sky, so, too, did hope rise within me. Somewhere along that rugged mountain path, I had outrun my grief, and chased down euphoria. I had stopped running for sorrow and started running for joy. A thousand lonely footsteps had alchemized melancholy into glee. Free from the manacles of heartbreak, I was finally running unrestrained.

If some is good, then more must be better. If one mile is a healing balm, then fifty miles must be the miracle cure.... The years slipped by and soon I was running ultramarathons through great redwood forests and across alien desert landscapes under towering sandstone arches. Although fate had called me back to the land of the living, I had left my timid, demure persona behind, retired carelessly along the banks of the River Styx. Refusing the pomegranate seeds, I had risen like a phoenix from the ashes of my smoldering dreams. I was reborn a fiery, reckless wildling who had clawed her way back from grief's abyss. I sailed into this world on a vow that I would spend my days cramming the adventures of two lifetimes into one, to atone for the life I hadn't been able to save. With a newfound brazen lust for life, I rappelled off cliff faces and surfed the eye of a hurricane. I ran into burning buildings and clung to the backs of furiously bucking bulls. Challenging mortality, I pushed the boundaries of human endurance. I attempted to assuage my thirst for penance with the blistering pain of torn ligaments and shattered bones. But the suffering was never enough. I wanted to defy a pain so profound it would dwarf my emotional distress, incinerate the remnants of my guilt. In that pursuit, I chased sock tan-lines and glory into the world of ultras; a realm that is largely free from glamor and celebrity. Hundreds of sweaty, desolate miles plagued by blood blisters, searing muscle cramps, and chafed nipples adds up to a grisly spectacle. Ultras are ugly and inspiring. They are dull and exquisite. They are formidable and invigorating. Ultras are a celebration of grit. A tribute to those who can wrestle with their demons during the darkest hours of night and still find their way to the finish line. An honor bestowed on the humble warriors who braved the tempests of pain, in a match so gruesome, even the most dedicated spectators would turn away. Somewhere along those grim trails, I found atonement. I cast aside my hair shirt and laid my ghosts to rest. I shredded my lurid bonds of regret as I forgave myself my earthly sins. I stitched together my lacerated heart and washed away the blood of my shame.

My blazing new identity can often feel too big for this world. Swollen with joy, ablaze with desire, I am always holding myself back. Afraid to throw sparks at the fragile, dry tinder of my social ecosystem. I want to poke and prod, race forward and explore every corner of my universe. I want to learn every native language and follow each fox to its den. I want to climb inside every fascinating mind and coax empyrean secrets from violets. I want to love without reason, befriend without cause. I want to dance with fire and discourse with the gods. Instead, I meet a soulmate after a decade in darkness, recognizing an energy I hadn't known existed for me on this side of the mortal veil. But just as a fiery lust threatens to ignite a metamorphosis inside a chrysalis churning with the beginnings of love, I am dragged away. Bound by the restraints of social norms, blindfolded with cultural expectations. Passion smolders, but never dies. The smoke lingers and haunts. The heart remembers. While my corporeal form chafes at its restraints, my soul runs free through the mountains. When I'm moving along alpine trails my spirit is whole and unfettered. My ardor is unchained. I can run at breakneck speeds down the path and no one tells me to slow. I can stop and climb a tree and no one tries to drag me back to earth. I can fall fervently in love with Gaia and lust after her horizon. I can release animal shrieks of longing into the wind, and covet the lascivious knowledge of a summer breeze. I can thirst for the wetness of waterfalls and hunger for the sensuous curves of a brook. I can run myself into a wanton fatigue and slip into a salacious slumber cradled by the roots of an ancient forest. Dawn will bring another hunt. An appetite stirring. A chase started anew. Into eternity stretches this scenic byway, and there you will find me.

Running unrestrained.