Run like the Wind

The cat calls are always coming, forever constant like the water babbling from a brook after a heavy rain.

"Hey baby, you sho nuff looking good! Can I run wit ya?"
"Hey sexy lady, why you running? You can ride with me!"
"Hey baby, bet you can crack these nuts with those muscular thighs!"

I ignore them. I ignore them all and I stay focused

Because I know I am a woman desired
A woman on fire
And I run like the wind.

I am ranked consistently as one of the top twenty women distance runners in the country, closing in fast on the top ten rankings. I consistently receive all expense paid invitations to top running events, some of which I turn down if it's not worth my while. I win enough prize money to quit my job if I'd like.

And it's not really even about all that. It's all about the run. For running, it helps me, it soothes me, it eases my mind. I don't even need music, no singers crooning in my ears about lost love and desire. The pound of my feet against the pavement, the sound of my breath coming out my mouth is cadence, pure music to my ears.

The fast beating of my heart, the delight of a good run: that's where my life is, where it begins.
It's a fringe benefit that I'm a woman desired
A woman on fire.
All that really matters is that I run like the wind..

But today is different. I run my usual route, fifteen miles through my neighborhood. I run down the main strip and around the park twice, sometimes three times if my body tells me too.

And then I see him. I see him in the park near the fence. My attention was peeked because I hear him, I hear him first, that laugh that I loved so much in the past.

He is out there with a large mechanical box in his hands, eyes directed at a buzzing object flying just above his head in the sky. I look up and there it is, a model airplane, I'm sure one of the many he has built, as that is hobby.

I should know. He built so many of those when he was with me. That was five years ago, and he's still doing the same thing.

I shake my head in an effort to shake the memory of him off of me, and all we had back then.

I try to remember

That I'm a woman desired
A woman on fire
And I run like the wind.

Visions of him flood my mind, like rushing water, from the special place I've hidden them in a crowded back room of my heart. He's still tall, still gorgeous, still has that same intriguing laugh. The hit of my feet against the pavement, the sound of my breathing is drowned out by it, drowned out by vivid memories of him.

When I first met him, he couldn't run. He said his asthma wouldn't let him. But I talked about it so much that he took his medication and got out there with me. I laughed as he leaned down and made sure his Chuck Taylor Converse sneakers were laced extra tight.

"Baby, I wanna support you in all you do," he said, squinting against the rising morning sun, "even if it means running with you. And I'm slow, can't run fast as you. I'm content with running behind you, and watching you run like the wind."

And that was back when I ran an eight minute mile. I run a five minute mile now, and I'm pushing for four.

He couldn't keep up now if he wanted to, and he sure couldn't keep up back then.

Couldn't keep up with this woman desired
This woman on fire
This woman that runs like the wind.

My eyes are like magnets, drawn to this man staring into the sky at his little plane buzzing to and fro.

My ears are alert to the little boy running around him hollering "Make it go higher, Daddy! Make our plane fly faster!"

My heart drops when I hear the woman sitting there on a blanket near them. "Now now, Junior, Come drink your juice," she coaxes as only a mother knows how to do.

I stare at this scene, this picture of a perfect family on a warm sunny day. He's there looking a little older, face bearded, a little heavier, but it looks good on him.

And she's there, relaxing on the white blanket, face upwards towards the sun, hand resting on her baby bump.

And she has that hair... that natural hair.

Her hair's not long like mine, but a kinky mass upon her head. My hair is long and silky, dyed a perfect auburn, and hangs halfway down my back. If she tried to pull a comb through her hair it would jump out her hand and land halfway across the room. I can comb my hair from scalp to ends without a snag, without static sound.

With that hair, she will never be like me:

A woman desired
A woman on fire
A woman whose hair blows in the wind.

I watch as the boy, the perfect image of my former man, runs over and falls into his mother's arms. His father's eyes follow him, and then they connect with mind.

Memories of him rain within my heart, a sudden unexpected thunderstorm in the corrals of my mind.

"Baby I love you, but I can't do this anymore. I'll never run as fast as you, and you will never let me forget it."

I was standing over him, looking down at him collapsed against the street curb, gasping for breath, grasping even harder for his inhaler.

I laughed at him on that windy day. The weatherman said the air was bad, but I didn't care. I needed my run. And it would've been my fastest run ever if I didn't have to help him.

I didn't know that day would be the last day I would see him. I thought he was talking just to be talking, just like he would complain when I didn't attend model airplane shows and competitions with him.

"You don't support me, girl. You don't even fake being interested in the things I like to do. Even though I get out here and run everyday with you."

"That's because what you do is boring," I said, my voice thick with disdain. "And my running is exciting. You can't compare sticking pieces of wood together with glue with my running like the wind."

I guess it was all too much for him.

I was no longer a woman desired
A woman on fire
Just a woman that ran like the wind.

He walked out of my house that day, still puffing on his inhaler, not even looking back. Calls to his phone were left unaswered. None of his usual calls came to mine. Funny how you don't miss something until it's gone... long gone.

As he smiles and walks my way, I realize that I'm way off my five minute pace.

I am standing stark still, clenching chain link fence hard with both hands. My face is pressed against it so tightly that the fence marks will forever be an imprint upon my face.

And the image of him will forever be an imprint upon my heart.

"I thought that was you," he said, grinning ear to ear. "No one runs as fast as you, girl. You still run like the wind."

I open my mouth to speak but there is no sound. It is hiding somewhere like a scared cat, refusing to come out into the light.

The little boy ran up behind his father and grabbed his leg, peering hard at me, this stranger, this woman. Does he know that I could have been his mother, given birth to him, if me and his father had stayed together?

I back away from the fence, check my Garmin, and get back on pace.

I get a mile away, running fast, running strong and I trip up on an unseen crack in the asphalt.

A fellow walking by runs to my aid, and is quick to help me up and check me for injury.

"Baby, you were running fast. You alright?" he asked, his face wrinkled in concern.

I tried to speak, but my voice was still hiding

I was a woman desired
A woman who'd lost her fire
Emotions in disarray
Mottled and mired
And my tears blow in the wind



Afterword

This is one of the stories I worked on for Hair Week, along with one earlier posted "D. Chicken". It's not really about hair (the title was originally "Hair") not really about running either, but about the choices we make, and whether they are choices that are good for us, or choices we later regret.

I'm not sure who this woman is. I just know she runs really fast. I have about 25 characters in my mind at any given time, and for the past couple of months, she'd run past while I'm considering other characters in my mind. Had me wondering "Who is that? And where is she running to? Better yet, what is she running from?

So I follow her through the streets of my mind. I listen to all the cat calls that she ignores. She can do that, because she's focused. She's one of the best. Gotta stay focused.

Then she runs by the park and sees a man she use to love. And it knocks her off her record pace. She sees this man's woman, and she does what we would all do. She ponders the woman, and comes to the conclusion that she is better than this woman... because of something as superficial as hair.

Sounds silly. But we do it all the time. Whether it be hair, body shape, intelligence, attire, etc... We do these things to pacify our hurt feelings. Just a facet of our fragile human nature, I suppose.

I would love to know this woman's story. Hell, I would love to know her name. Much is told here, but there is much more.

Maybe she will tell me one day...
Or maybe she will continue to run through the trails of my mind, running like the wind.