Running
It's Friday and I've finished the many small, necessary duties of resetting the classroom for the week ahead. I take out my phone and open the AirMatters app to check the AQI--that's the Air Quality Index, an up-to-the-minute measurement of the harmful particles floating in the air outside. "220" pulsates on my phone's screen, white numbers in a purple box. When the score is red, it is unhealthy to be outside. When it's purple, well...that is even worse. Who decided that purple is more alarming than red? I wonder to myself as I take my gym bag from the closet. Looks like another indoor run today.
A year ago, I had never heard of AQI and I certainly didn't know there was an app for that. A year ago, I lived in a place where no one even talked about the weather because it was almost always the same--hot. A year ago, I always ran outside.
I press the power button on the treadmill and a swirl of red lights flash across the display. A few taps and the machine hums to life, the conveyor belt begins to move beneath my feet. The dark haze in the air outside conspires with the florescent lights of the gym so that my own nebulous reflection floats on the window in front of me. I turn up the volume on my earbuds. Bruce Springsteen reads his autobiography, at double speed, into my ears, but even the lyrical prose of "the Boss" cannot distract me from the loneliness of being in a place I don't belong.
A year ago, I ran without headphones, sandwiched between a man of few words and woman with too many, our stories moving us forward. As we ran, the dust of the red African earth seeped its way into the soles of my shoes leaving orange-tinted evidence of the places I had been. It seems hard to believe, and I wonder if in another year or so I will think I had only imagined it, but we ran to a hyena. The hyena marked the halfway point of our run and there we would pause to take in her tragic splendor. The hair on her back was always raised in a sharp warning as she paced along the border of her confinement. We knew she shouldn't be there, in that cage, in that city. We looked in awe and grief then turned to run, again, back home.
Today, I look down at the unadulterated white of my running shoes as they slap against the accelerating belt, rubber on rubber. I increase the speed on the machine and volume on my headphones. My heart thumps inside my chest. I look up at my reflection in the window in front of me, a ghost of myself, and I try to keep running toward it.
A year ago, I had never heard of AQI and I certainly didn't know there was an app for that. A year ago, I lived in a place where no one even talked about the weather because it was almost always the same--hot. A year ago, I always ran outside.
I press the power button on the treadmill and a swirl of red lights flash across the display. A few taps and the machine hums to life, the conveyor belt begins to move beneath my feet. The dark haze in the air outside conspires with the florescent lights of the gym so that my own nebulous reflection floats on the window in front of me. I turn up the volume on my earbuds. Bruce Springsteen reads his autobiography, at double speed, into my ears, but even the lyrical prose of "the Boss" cannot distract me from the loneliness of being in a place I don't belong.
A year ago, I ran without headphones, sandwiched between a man of few words and woman with too many, our stories moving us forward. As we ran, the dust of the red African earth seeped its way into the soles of my shoes leaving orange-tinted evidence of the places I had been. It seems hard to believe, and I wonder if in another year or so I will think I had only imagined it, but we ran to a hyena. The hyena marked the halfway point of our run and there we would pause to take in her tragic splendor. The hair on her back was always raised in a sharp warning as she paced along the border of her confinement. We knew she shouldn't be there, in that cage, in that city. We looked in awe and grief then turned to run, again, back home.
Today, I look down at the unadulterated white of my running shoes as they slap against the accelerating belt, rubber on rubber. I increase the speed on the machine and volume on my headphones. My heart thumps inside my chest. I look up at my reflection in the window in front of me, a ghost of myself, and I try to keep running toward it.
Wow - the transition from running on the treadmill to running in Africa was seamless. I could picture your feet hitting the dusty ground. Great slice!
ReplyDeleteAlex, this is a fantastic piece. The description and contrast work so well. I enjoyed every word on the screen, WOW! One part so familiar and the other is quite unbelievable. I also have many questions as I read this. Thank you, I can't wait to read your slices.
ReplyDeletePowerful!Descriptive and so grossing. So many thoughts and memories building up as I read your slice.
ReplyDeleteGoddamn you're good! You've still got it and while I was a big fan of the narrative you unspooled last year, I have to say I'm digging the slice of life with the 'this time last year' comparison. If I was to pick and choose which lines pull me personally into your story, I'd highlight "Who decided that purple is more alarming than red?" A wink to the reader, I think. It made me smile. SOOOOO glad to see you back at it too ;)
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