I slip out of bed, trying not to disturb the covers.
I tiptoe past my son’s room and hope the creaking of my ankles won’t wake him.
I dress with eyes half-open, run the toothbrush over my teeth, and sneak out the door.
It is dark. Not the kind of dark that is swallows you up, but the kind that gives you a glimpse of what’s to come. Soon, the sun will give me hope.
At first, I am dragging my feet because I don’t really want to go. It’s more comfortable to hide in bed. To pretend I don’t need this escape.
Running from troubled sleep and tantrums and lunches and laundry and the stagnant feeling in my body. The stiffness in my limbs.
I pick up the pace a little, but it’s like that dream where you are running, running, running and never seem to get there. I just can’t get there as fast as I used to. But “there” is this, really. Just being out here. Alone.
Running toward ease and movement. Toward accomplishment. Because back there I try to accomplish so much and never seem to make it.
Running toward that feeling where my body is both fatigued and energized at the same time. Like pills without the pills. Bliss.