The Forms of Movement
Over time, a gift that life holds for us is the chance to close our eyes and transport ourselves to a moment or feeling that we will never forget. I think that the memories we always want to remember are carefully wrapped up, tied with a bow, and preserved amongst the clutter in our minds. One of the most comforting memories that life has given me, is the feeling of flipping once and twisting twice. Sometimes, I close my eyes and transport myself into my 12 year old gymnastics body at practice.
Gymnastics was one of my one of my best friends up until the 7th grade. As in any friendship, I discovered what we needed to make each other come alive. I learned that the feeling of flying through the air could bring an awakening rush of adrenaline; I could never get enough of the freedom in movement.
After 12 years, gymnastics and I went our separate ways. In middle school I moved onto new sports and then onto high school athletics it was. But after finishing high school, I realized I could not survive without the feeling of adrenaline from sports, so I decided to take up running. Running is not the best friend like gymnastics was, however, it is the one I can return to no matter how much time we have taken away from each other. It’s also the friend that not so humbly reminds me how much I have neglected it, as apparent through the rocky starts of some encounters. These rocky starts begin with me turning on my Ipod, (sometimes to music that I am too embarrassed to admit I actually listen to), and after the first song, I realize that I am in for a long stretch of road. The upside to my relationship with running is that awkward first encounters slowly move into a forgiving time of meditation which reassures me that I am not as old as I sometimes feel. I am comforted by the cadence of my steps on the road, on a treadmill, by myself, or next to a friend. I like the cadence of my steps anywhere, anytime. When I near the end of a run, saving the best song for last, I feel self-assured and satisfied with the effort I have just put forth.
Today, even though I can’t twist or flip in the blink of an eye, a quality run, topped off with a rush of adrenaline, is consoling because it lets me know that I can still move. I carefully wrap up the assurance from running along with the memories of gymnastics, and protect it within my mind. These gifts are ones that I can open anytime to remind myself that I believe in movement.
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