Those of you who know me know I am not a runner. Hell, those of you who don’t know me probably know I’m not a runner. Like many, I have often been known to say that I wouldn’t run unless there was a bear or a zombie chasing me. If a zombie bear were to give chase I’d likely run like a gazelle. But as a general rule Cami Kaos doesn’t run. Hike? Stroll? Skip? Walk? Stumble? Climb? Sure, sounds lovely.
But the other day as I walked home from school drop-off, music blaring in my ears through my little headphones, I looked down at my feet striding in time with the fast beat of the music and I had the sudden urge to take off. To run until I was drenched in sweat. Until I lost my breath. Until I stood on the sidewalk clutching my side from the stitch I knew I would feel.
I turned the music on and up on that walk up because I was stressed and I needed a way to get that feeling out so I could focus, get on with my day, and be constructive. Walking home alone my mind had a few moments to turn, churn, and play catch up on all the little stones in my life that amount to a mountain of feelings and thoughts. We all have stress in our lives from any number of sources and how we choose to deal with that stress, I believe, says a lot about each of us.
I used to write. When stressed. Or when sad. Or mad. Or confused. Or even when fooling myself.
That outlet is, more often than not, failing. I’ve moved on to other things. Organizing sock drawers. Stamping metal. Counting the number of bumps on my ceiling. That sort of thing.
But that morning, walking home, I looked down at my pink sneakers, listened to the pounding beat, and dreamt of taking off. I didn’t though. There was a fresh pot of coffee and a stack of work waiting for my attention. But ever since it’s been in the back of my mind and I’m not sure how much longer I’ll be able to say I won’t run.