Normally, I run -
walk, stride, saunter.
But lately, it's been cold.
I've stayed inside.
Not even ventured out to use the hovering black relief
of my punching bag.
And so, the pressure's off.
No pounding, jolting sense
Of sole, foot, palm, fist
Jammed against a substance that resists.
I miss that. I miss the jarring hit, the freeing pain
That accompanies my normal routine.
I've come to rely on it, I guess - the series of small pressures
somehow relieving
the larger ones
that build up
where jogging can't release them.
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