Warning:Written very quickly and not really edited.
Movement is release. Pure, perfect, primal release allowing everything is just turn into solid ground that you could put beneath your feet and behind you with enough energy and time.
At an early age, Troy exhibited this by playing tag. Although, when playing tag, he ran away, usually running in circles, just enjoying running. It wasn’t much other than he loved to run, and he knew he’d much rather run that take a bath, read, or just sit still, aside from coloring and drawing.
"That’s it! Go to your room, now, young man!" passed his mother’s poorly colored lips. Her erratically painted lips were a sign of chasing her daily meds with a beer or three. This was more than normal, like some perverse continuous typhoon. Warning signs usually included bad or heavy make-up jobs, broken dishes, and broken picture frames.
Many a time when Troy was commanded to lock himself up, he did. Well, he locked the door to his room before climbing out of his window to just run. Out and away was all he knew all he could breathe and think. His throat would be burning from gasping for breath, from hatred, from frustration, from adrenaline, and from the thrill of his problems slipping away as the asphalt was under his well-worn Nikes.
This was a regular occurrence from the time he discovered how to use the drainpipe and rose lattice to enter and exit his room via the window. The pattern followed Troy being yelled at and sent to his room, run out of the small town on main street, back into town when it got to be too dark, then spending the rest of the evening painting.
In high school, he joined cross-country running, quite a small affair at the local school. If you were a boy, baseball or football was your calling and only weak-boned wussies joined cross-country. Of course, these boys would try to “talk” to Troy or his fellow male teammate, (yes, only one) but they were faster in the end.
Even on this cold, autumn day, Troy straps on his slightly newer pair of running shoes to take to the park, where the trail transforms into the same two-lane road that held release for him time and time again.