When I am running, no one asks me to help with math homework or matching contractions with their meaning. No one needs me to put on their boots or zip their coats. Or find lost mittens or hats or socks or books. There are no buttons to reattach. No hunger overtaking normally sweet children, turning them into demons. Not everyone is talking at the same time. No 18 reminders to brush teeth and pee before heading to the school bus. Zero whining. There is no legal table to create for the still-unfinished confidentiality manual. No meetings to plan. No ever-at-the-ready cell phone alerting me to a new text/call/email/message/like. Hundreds of actionable emails fade, leaving room for the higher level vision of life and work that is too often pushed aside.
It is nice that running is good for my body. That is not why I run. I don't run away from the daily demands (although I admit to wanting to run while screaming nearly every day). But I run in addition to the daily demands. To give myself the serenity of time without anyone needing anything from me. An hour without a single demand except the ones that I place on my own body and mind. An hour with only my breath and legs and strongly beating heart.
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