In my running mind, and only there, my opponents are dumb with sheepish recognition. And every time I let off this toxic steam—rising and evaporating with the other noxious gases from my sweaty self—I can feel the tension leave my arms and legs, and my gait becomes looser and freer. I come from a long line of shoulder-hunchers, and as I rant and I run I can feel my back straighten and my head rise. It’s as if the dark thoughts I give silent voice to are quite literally holding me down, weights tied to my neck and clavicles, and as I indulge them I cut them and let myself rise again.
