I finish up notes from the day. Sixteen little stories, some better written and more thoughtful than others. I stare at the unfinished tasks in my baskets. It’s a number that will only get bigger tomorrow, but tomorrow is another day.
When I remove the stethoscope that’s been hanging around my neck, it’s as if I removed a lead chain. My shoulders feel lighter, and I can breath again. I change out of clinic clothes and into my workout clothes. My body finally feels free to move.
I take Prim out of my hat. “I know it’s been a long day,” I say to Prim, “but I need to go for a run. Do you want to stay here and rest?”
She stares at me unblinking. Her dark eyes glossy and penetrating.
“Look, I’m feeling a bit restless. I just sat here in the same office for the last 10 hours, lecturing people on the importance of exercise. I don’t want to go, but I have to go.”
She turns and looks at the hat, then back at me. Her ears hang low against her back. She moves towards the hat, favoring one leg as she does so. She stops and looks at me again.
“If your leg hurts, you probably should stay and rest.”
She defiantly turns away and hops inside the hat, disappearing into the darkness.
I pick up the hat and replace it on my head, cinching it down a little tighter. “If you insist,” I say.
When I step out of my windowless box, the sky overwhelms me. I forgot how big it is. It takes a moment for my eyes to adjust to the sunlight. I blink hard a few times as tears form. It feels a bit surreal. While I was trapped in a cage of fluorescents, the blue sky was there all along. What is this world?
I set out for a jog in Johnson Park, following a trail that wraps itself around a lake. It’s not so much a lake as a manmade reservoir. A few decades ago, this land was a treeless airport with tarmac, watch towers, and hangers. Now, it’s a repurposed suburban greenway. Though the city planners did a beautiful job, the whole park is artificial. Even the geese are imported from Egypt.
My legs to fall into an easy rhythm. It’s a path that I’ve ran a thousand times, and my body knows the way. As I pound my feet into the concrete, I try to let go of my day. I think of my patients and their suffering. I think about the ways the system fails them — the way I fail them. I think of all the trauma I witness, and the fact that I’ll wake up tomorrow to witness more. If only I could run faster, then maybe I could run away from it once and for all.
Despite last night’s storm, the sun is blazing this afternoon. It dried up most of the puddles, which has left the air thick and muggy. With a rabbit in my hat, my head starts to feel especially hot. Sweat soaks through my shirt, sticking to my skin. My watch buzzes. I receive a warning that my heart rate is in the orange zone. Since I’m not in the red, I ignore it and keep pushing.
I run pass a man sitting at the water’s edge on some boulders. Even though my body is still running, my mind suddenly glitches. It’s as if I can experience that moment through him. He smells the fishy pond water, and he feels the cool smooth stone beneath him. He’s watches a turtle float in the water, whispering to it. The noise in my head suddenly becomes quiet and still. In that space, a question forms: what do you desire?
I wince. A sharp pain shoots through my right eye. Twinkling lights start to flash across my vision, and I feel a familiar ache start to build in my head. It’s best not to meddle in other people’s minds, and right now all I desire is some water. I crack my neck and press on with my run. Only a few more miles to go.
Writer Body and Soul 