Read Online Clearer in the Night by Rebecca Croteau - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Rebecca Croteau
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under them. I woke up feeling refreshed, excited, almost frenetic. It would be overstating to say I sprang out of bed, but only just. Only just.
I had never been a morning person. My normal routine involved punching the snooze button on my phone three or four times, then lying in bed and poking at email and mourning the fact that I had to move, then dragging myself through the shower, and ever closer to the coffee pot. Some days, I had to caffeinate before I could even face the shower. Running your life on five hours of sleep does that to a person.
There had been a point in time when I woke up fast, eager, ready to go. That had been in college, though, when I’d been running just for the simple joy of putting one foot in front of the other, with no commitments or promises. Before I’d gotten the idea in my head that it was even possible to run away from the things that haunted you. That hadn’t lasted, though. The good things never really did. It had been three years since I’d even bothered to do a 5k. Longer than that since I’d run on a regular basis.
But this morning, it was the only thing I could think of. Moving fast and faster, until I shook the demons’ claws out of my heels.
Mom hadn’t thrown out anything of mine, and my old track stuff was no exception. The shorts were shorter than I remembered, and the sports bra was tighter than was comfortable. The shoes were more broken down than I liked. But I pulled my hair into a ponytail anyway, made sure the emergency $20 was still tucked into my shorts pocket, flipped over to the music on my phone, and headed out the front door. I thought about waking her up, letting her know where I was going, but if she was sleeping, she probably needed the rest. I’d be back before she woke up, most likely.
I started onto my old running route without thinking about it. Down the street, past all the other stuck-up Victorians, then turning into the trails, running a long circle around to another neighborhood, and then back. When I’d been in good form, it had been a decent half hour run, enough to keep me in shape during the off season.
Two minutes in, I wanted to quit. My body had utterly forgotten how to do this. There was none of the peace that I remembered, none of the quiet meditation of one foot in front of the other; I was caught up with remembering pacing and form and to breathe at all, never mind breathing well. An embarrassing three minutes in, before the first song on my old playlist had even ended, I shuffled to a walk, heaving air like an elephant. I’d been good at this once, but it turned out it was one more thing I failed at now.
Turning around seemed like the logical thing to do, and I almost did it. But something was stirring somewhere in me now, something that wanted to move more than it wanted to be still, something that knew it could run all day, if it just found the right pace. Cross-country had been my skill, back in the day; I couldn’t sprint, couldn’t leap, but I could run forever, once I got my feet and my heartbeat in the right pattern. Once I shut my brain off and started listening to my body. And that had been the magic of running, after all, right? Moving meditation, or something.
So I walked until the crick in my side worked itself out, and then I pushed my feet into a jog again. Slower than I’d tried the first time. I’d have to start out slow, but I could do this. I could. I’d done it before, and I’d remember how.
I kept my gaze low, focusing on the step in front of me, and then the one after that, and then the one after that. Just the next step, Cait. Don’t worry about what happens when your lungs tighten up again, and just run. Just keep moving.
That’s probably why I ran straight into someone. When running, remember to keep your eyes up. At least every once in a while. When you stare at your own feet, you smack straight into someone, hitting them with a huge oof of force, and the both of you go down in an unattractive
I had never been a morning person. My normal routine involved punching the snooze button on my phone three or four times, then lying in bed and poking at email and mourning the fact that I had to move, then dragging myself through the shower, and ever closer to the coffee pot. Some days, I had to caffeinate before I could even face the shower. Running your life on five hours of sleep does that to a person.
There had been a point in time when I woke up fast, eager, ready to go. That had been in college, though, when I’d been running just for the simple joy of putting one foot in front of the other, with no commitments or promises. Before I’d gotten the idea in my head that it was even possible to run away from the things that haunted you. That hadn’t lasted, though. The good things never really did. It had been three years since I’d even bothered to do a 5k. Longer than that since I’d run on a regular basis.
But this morning, it was the only thing I could think of. Moving fast and faster, until I shook the demons’ claws out of my heels.
Mom hadn’t thrown out anything of mine, and my old track stuff was no exception. The shorts were shorter than I remembered, and the sports bra was tighter than was comfortable. The shoes were more broken down than I liked. But I pulled my hair into a ponytail anyway, made sure the emergency $20 was still tucked into my shorts pocket, flipped over to the music on my phone, and headed out the front door. I thought about waking her up, letting her know where I was going, but if she was sleeping, she probably needed the rest. I’d be back before she woke up, most likely.
I started onto my old running route without thinking about it. Down the street, past all the other stuck-up Victorians, then turning into the trails, running a long circle around to another neighborhood, and then back. When I’d been in good form, it had been a decent half hour run, enough to keep me in shape during the off season.
Two minutes in, I wanted to quit. My body had utterly forgotten how to do this. There was none of the peace that I remembered, none of the quiet meditation of one foot in front of the other; I was caught up with remembering pacing and form and to breathe at all, never mind breathing well. An embarrassing three minutes in, before the first song on my old playlist had even ended, I shuffled to a walk, heaving air like an elephant. I’d been good at this once, but it turned out it was one more thing I failed at now.
Turning around seemed like the logical thing to do, and I almost did it. But something was stirring somewhere in me now, something that wanted to move more than it wanted to be still, something that knew it could run all day, if it just found the right pace. Cross-country had been my skill, back in the day; I couldn’t sprint, couldn’t leap, but I could run forever, once I got my feet and my heartbeat in the right pattern. Once I shut my brain off and started listening to my body. And that had been the magic of running, after all, right? Moving meditation, or something.
So I walked until the crick in my side worked itself out, and then I pushed my feet into a jog again. Slower than I’d tried the first time. I’d have to start out slow, but I could do this. I could. I’d done it before, and I’d remember how.
I kept my gaze low, focusing on the step in front of me, and then the one after that, and then the one after that. Just the next step, Cait. Don’t worry about what happens when your lungs tighten up again, and just run. Just keep moving.
That’s probably why I ran straight into someone. When running, remember to keep your eyes up. At least every once in a while. When you stare at your own feet, you smack straight into someone, hitting them with a huge oof of force, and the both of you go down in an unattractive
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