Tú te rizas el pelo y te pintas; yo no;
a mí me riza el viento, a mí me pinta el sol.
-Julia de Burgos
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It’s something indescribable; the feeling of pavement beneath your feet as you pound with rhythm on the first few days of fall; the leaves crunching with every step; the feeling of a clear head after shedding the stress off your back by simply slipping on your sneakers and hitting the trails; the feeling of breath coming back into your body after your last mile repeat; the feeling of an empty stomach and fatigued muscles after getting lost in a world of your own for an hour or two; the feeling from lifting heavier weights than last week and being sore from reaching new heights; the feeling of uncertainty on Sundays when you don’t do anything but think about everything; the feeling of exhaustion as you do all these things day in and day out; the feeling when it’s your first race and you’re not that far behind number three on the team; the feeling when endorphins are released and you’re floating on a cloud; the feeling of defeat as you don’t hit all of your splits after training so hard; the feeling when you cross the finish line only to prove yourself wrong; the feeling of pain as your legs burn up every hill you encounter; the feeling of power as parents and friends yell ‘7:07’ at the mile marker or as friends yell ‘way to go!’; the feeling of stepping up to the starting line for the last time; the feeling when the gun goes off and nothing else in the world matters; the feeling of flying as you realize everything you’ve put in is finally paying off; the feeling of accomplishment when the clock is at its lowest time ever as you finish; the feeling of knowing that you could do this all along; only when you run will you understand the true phenomenon of it all.