Eyes on the horizon, she pushed all thoughts from her mind and ran. Her feet slapped the pavement with an even tempo as she breathed in through her nose, out through her mouth. In, out. In, out.
She had always liked running. Ever since she was a child, she would bolt if something went wrong at home. That meant she was running a lot. Running from her father, who spewed drunk and angry nonsense as he swung his fists like tree branches during a windstorm. Running from her mother, whose deriding words stung her like snake venom. Running from her classmates, who teased her about her bruise-mottled skin. Always, always running.
A hill approached. She focused on the ascent and continued to breathe as her muscles screamed in agony. In, out. In, out.
Because she ran so much growing up, her Physical Education teacher noticed her speed and urged her to try out for the high school cross country team. Reluctantly, she did, but only after stealing the thirty dollars for registration and a uniform from her mother’s wallet. She enjoyed running on the team, but always felt an acerbic twang of jealousy when she observed her teammates’ parents cheering them on. She hated being so alone.
Her shoelace became untied, and she stopped to fix it. Bending over, she felt her sweat run down her forehead and into her eyes, stinging. Her chest was soaked with perspiration as well, and she felt her soaked shirt rise and fall with each breath. In, out. In, out.
As her high school career progressed, her parents became worse and worse. Her father lost his job, and spent his days drinking and watching television. Her mother grew more and more astringent, and constantly belittled her. Eventually it became too much to bear, and she had to escape. So she was running. Running, with no plan or place to go. Running and breathing. In, out. In, out.