Chapter 1: The Escape Through Running

In my quiet town, sodium lights cast a dim glow on the green bridge, making it feel as haunting as Sleepy Hollow. The winding river meanders from rugged rocks to the remnants of lost moments. When I run, all discomfort fades away.

There’s also a temporal aspect to this. If I sprint hard enough until my lungs feel like they’re on fire, I can escape the present. I can toss aside the past and future like an old sheet, placing the now on a shelf, like a brass ornament. In those fleeting moments, I transcend time, stepping outside the realm of humanity and, consequently, my suffering.

I often glance back, anticipating the arrival of the horseman. He brings stories, much like crusaders and prophets. They arrive armed with tales that compel you to acknowledge and accept your anguish. I understand this truth: once consumed, I am forever trapped.

He dons a cape, but my thoughts drift elsewhere—fixating on the clock tower, the seldom-visited church, the saloon, and the bank that the Herman brothers once robbed, masked and armed. As I cross the street, I never wait for the pedestrian signal. I navigate through the gaps, existing in those liminal spaces that are omnipresent.

At 1:30 AM, while my friends share laughter and stories in my girlfriend's backyard, I find myself running through the town. I can't quite articulate why; I simply feel compelled to flee. Reflecting on it now, it resembles an addiction.

Both running and substance use confront pain. I once described running as my form of self-harm. I didn’t realize as a child that I exhausted myself to numb my suffering. Yet, the truth often strikes like a heavy hammer: you are the vessel; allow readers to join you on this journey.

I wasn’t particularly remarkable as a runner—my best mile time was 4:29, which was decent. But running symbolized something greater for me: affirmation of my existence and resilience. I crafted a means to escape my pain and, when my struggles persisted, I escaped into the act of running.

Running became my penance. Each time I lost my way or sought punishment, I turned to it. Like the clerical flagellants, I ventured into the depths of exhaustion, where my heartbeat fueled my journey forward. Those magnolia bushes by the walnut grove remind me of the physical and emotional beatings I endured. I laughed publicly but wept privately. What kind of boy becomes a man under such circumstances?

As I burn away from the world, distancing myself from gatherings and familiarity, I run toward numbness, breaking free from my past. I traverse my small town, crossing the green bridge, navigating through dense foliage. Trees arch over creeks, resembling Christ’s arms outstretched above the library. I collect stars from the pavement, stretch, and continue onward.

These moments are the chokeholds on the tranquility I find in solitude. I transform this solitude into patterns, holding it delicately between my fingers as I run. My coach advised me to grip it like a fragile potato chip while I navigate the cardboard neighborhoods of my town. When people see me, they recognize my presence.

As I run on the beach, enveloped in darkness, clouds drift toward me like a bus. The ocean caresses the shore, and the waves whisper in a soothing rhythm. I see my silhouette—a figure in a black hooded sweatshirt against a muted backdrop. The ocean remains eerily still, its waves resembling flat sheets of paper, disjointed and surreal.

I blink and am transported back to when I was seven, feeling the sting of a harsh reprimand. I blink again, finding myself in my childhood bedroom, my mother looming above me with a gaze that pierces like hail. She sees my face, wide open and vulnerable, before she strikes.

In an instant, I’m running over the sand beside the ocean, as if in a black-and-white film. I’m escaping the pain, leaving behind the past and future, and once more placing the present back on the shelf, like a brass figurine.

Hey, I’m Roman, and I’m currently crafting my debut novel, 20XX, a work of magical realism. I also share insights about the writer’s journey on Substack.

Chapter 2: Lessons from Beach Running

The importance of running on the beach cannot be overstated. It serves as both a physical and emotional escape.

This video titled "Beach Running DO'S and DONT'S" highlights essential tips for making the most of your beach runs, helping you avoid common pitfalls while enjoying the serene environment.

In addition to its physical benefits, beach running can greatly enhance mental well-being.

The second video, "HOW TO RUN ON THE BEACH," provides valuable insights into techniques and strategies to improve your beach running experience, making it both enjoyable and effective.