What Do I Think About When I Run.

I don't usually think when I run. I just stare at the ground and follow the path. The sound of my footsteps synchronizes with my sluggish emptiness, and everything becomes the outside. It feels like an ecstasy - no worries, no distractions, nothing.

From this nothingness I dig something out.

The people I pass during my run are unrecognizable acquaintances - We are old friends but we don't know each other. The different paces we take and the distance between us create alienness, but nonetheless we are moving together. The rhythms between my steps and their steps layer upon each other and compose a blank melody, one that describes nothing but the extension of miles and the passage of time. Perhaps this is how runners connect, in an outside world nonrestrained.

Sometimes I look at them and I use the ten-second creeping time to appreciate this world that I live in. My little exploration of motion's variety delights me. How amazing that we have legs, and how amazing we can move.

I usually do 2 laps around the reservoir, one clockwise and one counter-clockwise. The first lap I run with much energy. I am fast enough to pass by most of the runners. The second lap doesn't take much physical effort either, but my mind sometimes gets a little bored. I then look up straight ahead and purposelessly glance at the people I have encountered during my first lap.

When the direction of things shifts from one to another, the Freudian uncanniness arises, and inspirations come out. I have seen the runners' backs, but this time I am looking at their faces. I am encountering them the second time, and every look is different.