Muscle Memory
I really miss running. Not those long, arduous runs which I really hate, but just full-out, all-or-nothing sprinting. It's a yearning that burns through the core, and I can feel it in my bones, in my thighs, my toes, my arms.
I miss the pulsing adrenaline that hits your system and races through your veins. The adrenaline, the rush, that feeling of how nothing matters but here, now, these 11 fleeting seconds, between point A and B. I miss the wind whipping through my hair and how it blew my cheeks out. I miss the clawing grip of my spikes against the red track and the strain of muscles tense and taut. I miss the unadulterated passion of it all, that athlete's blind desperation to just go faster and faster and faster.
I miss that feeling of being free. Life just doesn't grant you such ephemeral illusions anymore.
I miss the pulsing adrenaline that hits your system and races through your veins. The adrenaline, the rush, that feeling of how nothing matters but here, now, these 11 fleeting seconds, between point A and B. I miss the wind whipping through my hair and how it blew my cheeks out. I miss the clawing grip of my spikes against the red track and the strain of muscles tense and taut. I miss the unadulterated passion of it all, that athlete's blind desperation to just go faster and faster and faster.
I miss that feeling of being free. Life just doesn't grant you such ephemeral illusions anymore.