July 30, 2016:

I ran in a particular ritual.

Two laps, slowest possible jog, slow as I could hold myself back while I was aching to cut loose. Purely to limber up.

Two laps, slowly accelerating to a comfortable run. Not pushing it, not holding back. Savanna speed of the ancient hunters.

Four laps, full comfortable run, controlled breath, listening to my shoes crunch on the track, feeling my heart rev and my lungs fill with life.

One lap, accelerating, pushing hard, preparation to pass the pack.

One lap flat out sprint, fast as I could, trying to fly.

I'd end elated, coursing with adrenaline, lit with endorphin. Warm in my head and chest for two or three hours, the most satisfying high.

Thirty years on I would like to find that high once more. My life feels too small, lacking in elation. My lungs are closed and largely empty. I would like to retrieve that particular fragment of lost soul.