Running in the Dark

This morning I woke up with a heavy chest. It was difficult to get out of bed to work out. My body was saying, "Everyone has a snow day. It's silly you're still going to class." The class I am auditing for my department research met despite the rest of the college shutting down. Too much to do and a professor who lives on campus.

The class is at eight, so I was sliding down to the gym at 6:30. Slowly clomping and skidding. The sky, overcast, offered not light. There were no cars passing. I got the gym to find it open but deserted. No lights. I pecked around for switches. I found a couple--not the big ones apparently. Just some little spots on the corner. I hopped on a treadmill anyway.

It was the first time in a long time I felt myself running away anger, hurt, stress, sadness. All the little monsters. They came up from an unknown soil and manifested inside my legs. I felt alone. I was.

In the dark I ran, and really with each step I looked forward with hope. The frosted cars in the lot, half a Mojo bar I remembered in my Hello Kitty lunch box.

In class, I felt the vicious internal jabbings get quiet. And then farther. And then they were in Tallahassee, and I was sitting in my little class discussing methods for tutoring writing. And my chest wasn't heavy, and I don't know why that was. I don't know why that was.


Jamin, Fukoi, 2008


And I know you have a heavy heart. I can feel it when we kiss.
Sop many men stronger than me have thrown their backs out trying to lift it.