I haven't run south in a long time. It isn't about not having the time or even being fit enough to do it, it ts about not having the balls to go there.
Everything south is scary. Two well used homeless camps; one by the tracks the other right before the first foot bridge. Around the golf course and under the road, the second bridge, the one that carries the interstate, it harbors orb weaver spiders.
From there the trail spreads out long under the sun. It passes around a park where men sit at the picnic tables drinking out of bottles wrapped in brown paper bags. The trail stays exposed to the sun but isolated all the way down to where the trail meets the nature preserve.
The loop has shade and dark corners.
I run south only when I feel strong and brave.
I run south when I feel like I don't have anything anyone could take from me.
I count men like an accountant. Methodically keeping track of all of them. There are 4 on bikes, 3 leaning against trees, 2 walking dogs, and 1 runner.
The runner is the one that bothers me the most because he doesn't have to be brave to be out here. He doesn't have to run tough when he is tired. He doesn't have to calculate the darkness, or proper timing to pass though the unknown. He doesn't have to know when to make eye contact and when to look away. He doesn't have to pretend that the running is the hardest part of the run.
He only has to be male.
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