Freedom Road

My sneakers slap the ground, crunching over a carpet of gravel and wood chips. I’m shaded beneath the green leafy canopy, but here humidity is ever-present. Sweat drips down my face, crusted beneath my eyes and salty on my lips.

My breathing is measured by footfalls: inhale for two, out for one. One-two—three. One-two—three. One-two—three.

Some days the rhythm is hypnotic, and my brain flits from this to that like a broken television. Other days my lungs ache and my legs also burn, and I hear nothing but breaths full of pain. But the ache is sweet, the burn compelling.

On these runs, I am, quite literally, out in the world—the real and natural world. I breathe the same air as the animals, bask in the same sun as the ancestors, feel the same rain as the leaves on the trees and the shrubs in the soil. Out here, there is me, my breath, my mind, and the road. There is no desk covered in angry neon post-its or the invisible yet infinitely heavy load of emails in need of reply. My friends cannot question. My partner cannot complain. Even my phone, that anchor to the virtual world cannot ring—it’s back in the house, blinking one bar of service. I am alone with the road, and the road with me.

A few yards ahead, the path ends. I burst out from beneath the trees and the sun welcomes me, bathing my skin brown. Sweat rolls off of my shoulders and down from my armpits. The gritty path turns to smooth, gray pavement, and I follow it out into the fields. The parallel yellow lines unfurl before me, leading me on.

As the road curves up and then slides back down, my mind follows. I replay the cornhole game from last night. Puffs of dust rose from the beanbags as they hit the board. Bright laughs punctuated the twilight. The taste of victory was a bit in my mouth as I launched that last beanbag, a perfect arc, toward board. A win! High-fives, hugs, lightening bugs everywhere.

The sun is high in the sky now, and my body starts to protest. Walk, says my mind. Just stop and walk. There’s no one out here to see you. And so what if they did? I glance down at my watch, stretch out my stride, and will myself to think of something, anything. It’s only 11a.m. I will run until noon. But after that? What will I do? Will I put on my swimsuit and lie on the dock? Sit on the porch swing with my half-finished novel? Curl on the couch with my journal? There is no Internet here, and so no Facebook or Instagram or Tumblr. No one to measure myself against, other than myself. No tasks other than those I choose to complete. Time and the road blur into one empty opportunity spread out before me, waiting.

This is my meditation. This is my escape. This is freedom.

About the Author:  Allison Goldstein is an athlete, writer and world traveler. Her favorite sport is (currently) running. Her favorite author is (also currently) David Sedaris. And her favorite city would have to be New York, followed closely by Amsterdam, Barcelona, and of course her hometown, Pittsburgh.

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