![]() It was nothing like that of the runners I grew accustomed to seeing, the ones who regulated themselves, jogged two or three times a week, who did a warm-up first and stretching exercises afterwards, the people for whom the activity was a hobby. My routine was erratic, I ran when I felt like it, usually five or six times a month. The very first time I went running, it was from that terror, from the possibility of being sucked down into emptiness for ever, and as I ran I discovered I was able to feel pressure in my lungs, pain in my legs, my skin perspiring, the pounding of my heart. As I stood staring at the walls, searching inside myself for some kind of emotional response, the nothingness suddenly welled up inside me, like a physical mass, so vast and empty and infinite I was terrified. My life was my own and I could do anything I wanted, yet I felt nothing. “My relationship had ended and Red had taken my son. ![]()
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