Running

I don't know if I do like running. But I run a lot. I run to be able to feel the existence of my body. To feel my heart beating when I reach the top of the last hill. To feel the drops of perspiration running down my neck, the pulsating heat in my face. There are moments when I forget the existence of my body. When I forget to breath. This is not one of them.

When I run my lungs swallow liters of oxygen. I feel them outside my body. They are so big that my body can't hold them inside me. I don't like the feeling of having my lungs outside my body. But I love to get them back aired and used to their maximum.

When I ran today I passed by two rats. Rats could never give me any good. They escaped quickly and so did I. There are lots of them in Stockholm. My heart beats harder every time I see them. The rats know to run faster then I. It doesn't help me anyway. I still hate them.

Sometimes I run to the bus. That kind of short running is a good feeling even in the moments of running. My legs turn into feathers. But the wind isn't able take me. I know exactly where I have my feet.

I saw a man today. He was running with two different legs. One leg looked like my legs, the other looked like a iron strip that helped him jump like a kangaroo. He seemed to be pleased being able to run with one leg and jump with the other. I'm also pleased even though I don't rune like a kangaroo with my left leg. At least now when I'm back home again with my lungs inside me.

Text: Jennie Åström

Photo: Sebastian Estay