Put A Muzzle On The Lamb

I'm writing from a quiet place tonight where my crummy feet do not ping my brain.

Being part of this humdrum society, it is only natural that those sentiments generalize down to me, the individual, and I, in return, am a feedback loop for it. The point for me in running is to revolt against those very generalizations that try to cage away my differences in curiosities and application. Only with the sweatiest of armpits will I be able to nourish my idealism, and build a replica of these myriad thoughts that flash through my attention span. Still, as empowered as I have been feeling thanks to those around me, this software bug in me continuously allows the present to slip by me. The magnitude of it does not impose grand danger anymore as I have been debugging it for awhile now, but it is evaluated weekly through my benchmarks.

Tuesday, Thursday, Saturday, and Sunday are the days in my training that have the most identical stimulus of a race. The pressure, the angst, the focus, and the mental drive can be related to the specified bug from above. Much like, checking mile/pace, I have made a conscious effort to snap out of my daydreams, and focus on the airflow in my nostrils in order to shake off the fear.

Gloria Is Silent

At this very hour of my Friday evening, I feel empowered. It has been a long road of feeling weak, and unable to concentrate during my runs. They do not pass by me the way the concrete cracks do. I feel my legs touching the ground more, I hear my breaths fleeting my body, disembodied into every single spot I pass. At this very moment I am content with running. Around February, there has been a feeling in me, that this year, 2019, will be the year I either get close to the threshold I left in my past, or surpass it. Impulsiveness in my running is no longer as intense in the myriad of my being. My patience has been more nourished  

Tonight, the paranormal activity in my head is low. Those ghosts at every corner of mind no longer put me at an anxious halt.