This post is part of the Shake Creative Challenge for January. You can find out more here.
I wish I could.
I can’t leave.
I can’t leave them alone.
I can’t leave them without me.
Every day, I wish I could.
Run, far away, from responsibility, from obligation, from anxiety, from depression.
I used to dream.
Elaborate fantasies of where I’d be, what I’d be doing, if I ran.
I don’t anymore.
I stay where I am. I endure. I persevere. I hope for better.
So instead, I learnt to run. Slowly, at first. One minute, then two, then three.
1 km, 2 km, sometimes 3.
If I can’t run away, at least I can run.
My blood pumping, my lungs heaving, sweat trickling down my neck, I come home.
If I do nothing else today, at least I’ve ran.
It’s a small thing, but I run.