Running

Some days you just want to crawl out of your own skin. I've done a lot of crazy shit but no where near as much as I've thought about. Thank God there isn't a thought police or I'd be screwed. No doubt. I'm sitting here in my little apartment in my hometown. It's morning (for me which means it's about 1pm.) The insomnia has been kicking in again recently. I try my best to get to sleep around 1am but the act of getting into bed and the act of falling asleep seldom line up the way I'd like. Drifted off sometime around 4 or 5am while listening to the birds call from tree to tree from the open window in my bedroom where the curtains were pulled back just enough to let a cool springtime breeze float in and over my bed and naked body on top of the covers.

It's days like today...feelings like today...that bring back old dreams of just wanting to walk....to just walk away....just keep walking...never stopping...and then running. Running running running. Just like Forrest Gump after that crazy bitch Jenny left him alone in his beautiful home in Greenbow, Alabama. I did used to run. A lot. And I used to think of ol. Forrest when I ran. It started out innocently enough. I had recently separated from my wife and taken an apartment in downtown Santa Fe, NM. I had begun dating a beautiful and crazy young woman. She was 25 and I was 29. The sex was phenomenal. We partied together too. She was a drunk like me, a dope smoker and a pill head. We'd party like rock stars all weekend but then come Sunday morning she would wake up and go to church. I ended up going with her and I ended up enjoying it.

One day I was out walking around my neighborhood and listening to music through headphones. My mind was full to overflowing with all kinds of thoughts and I started walking faster and faster until I found myself running. I ran and ran and ran. By the time I got back home I had run about 2.5 miles. It was exhilarating. The very next day I went to a local shop and bought a pair of running shoes. For the next 9 months I ran every day. I ran while it snowed. I ran while it rained. I ran during torrential summer monsoon downpours. I ran with the sun kissing my naked skin and the wind colling the glistening beads of sweat that formed on my body in motion. I cried while I ran. I smiled while I ran. I started trail running. I ran through forests, over rocks and boulders, dodging tree roots and pebbles, up mountainsides and down into lush valleys. I ran through the center of Santa Fe. I was a passenger. Weight fell off of me in scores of pounds. IN the heat of it I weighed 145 lbs. That's how much I ran. And I forgot to mention this but this was the biggest thing of all. I stopped drinking. At a friend's wedding reception in late December I took one sip from a glass of champagne and set it down. I turned to my girlfriend and said, "I'm through drinking. I don't want to do it anymore." She laughed and smiled knowing I would be drinking again the next night but I didn't. I didn't drink. I ran. I ran trails above 10,000 feet in elevation. Out-of-towners would be struggling to breathe just walking the hiking trails and in a blur I'd come flying by, skipping over rocks and cutting around steep corners between trees. I must have looked a lunatic with my eyes burning bright and stained with tears. I developed abdominal muscles that rippled when I ran. My calves and thighs exploded with thick muscles.

I could only run for so long. One day in September I was on a motorcycle ride with a friend and we stopped at a tavern in the silver mining town of Madrid, NM. Once inside I ordered a shot of whiskey and a beer chaser. My running days would soon end. And my drinking days would begin again.