A Run in the Park
There is a place in this concrete jungle you call home. A retreat from the waves of modernity threatening to swallow you whole. A sanctuary that can soothe your tired old soul. People call it a park. You call it your makeshift heaven on earth. The first time you came here, you ran along a footpath that cut through the trees and claimed it as your own. You learned the contours of the ground beneath your feet as the stars started to come out one by one. It is hard at first, running in the park. Your muscles scream and your heart threatens to beat out of your chest. There is a voice in your head that tells you to stop every few minutes. On some weekends, you don’t even want to get out of bed. Some days, other runners overtake you – they look so effortless in their running that you can’t help but be envious. Then it gets a little bit better. You find that you can run a little bit further and breathe a little bit easier. Still, your body rebels and the voice in your head is a