close calls

The bus was at the intersection when I stepped out of Broadview, heaved air into my lungs, swung my bag over my shoulder and started sprinting down the block, across the street, straining and kicking to catch up till i was banging on the back window as it pulled away. Luckily, a parking car intervened and the bus driver let me in between stops. and i realized, plopping panting into the slick seat, that man do i love to run. Distances, out jogging by myself, wearing myself out, they sometimes don't appeal so much. But running fast and hard, long enough to get into my stride and my rhythm, legs pounding the ground with lengthening strides till I'm airborne, the back of the girl in front of me as I eat up the space between us; that feels like power. That is me, rejoicing in my body, no room in my head for anything but one foot in front of the other and my heartbeat pulsing through me and the air piercing my throat. It's a wild joyous sort of freedom that fills me up till I expand into me.




So I have this unhealthy new habit, when I'm out riding my bike, of running red lights later and later, relying on the few seconds it takes for the drivers to register the green light in front of them and go go go. And each time they're a little closer but somehow all I want is everything always to be close calls and narrow misses and just-in-times.