A quarter down the entire length, and I already feel a trigger of ambiguous signals to my legs; it oscillates between keeping me going, and from pulling me to the ground - with a gentle grace and a painful expression on the face if I choose to stop, or with a thump if I remain stubbornly positive.
Fearlessly, I refuse an end to this experience, and drag ahead, breathing hard. Its close to what my 9k runs with C used to be like, when in our last 1km we would blow ourselves out doing all kinds of alternate motions for mobility. Only difference being that those lung-leaps used to be by the end of our run, while today its just past the start, and there's the whole of it ahead.
Soon I settle into the groove, and find things more manageable than what my labored start reflected. The body tunes itself (like the responsible responsive machine it is) so now that strange 'wrong' feeling is curbed by the measure of retracting the sensory inputs from the outer-world stimulus - the breathing and heart-rate stabilises but I can hear myself all the more, the liquid welling-up in the eyes now settles-in like a good spectator but the eyes start to learn more about myself (at abstruse angles) than the more usual squares and circles right that linger about. Thoughts mute out. Some cravings buzz about like flies, but are squatted down.
Today, I could've been anywhere, but chose this, in the zeal to live, to evolve, to claim, to inspire.
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