Focus on the Present

A runner runs. Sweat, dripping down his forehead, dampening the ears and lips, salty, hot, and cold. The runner runs. Pain, crawling up his thighs, his waist, then chest. Breathing harsh, the runner runs.

The runner has a hat. It is a strange hat. It is a wide, round one, like a flat┬ásombrero, and has dangling objects shifting side to side every time the runner pushes out for another step. The objects – a barbie doll, a piece of chocolate cake, a model car, a diploma, a picture of a special person, and many others all around the hat, rotating every now and then, dangling with charm.

The runners eyes move. Almost mechanically, his pupils run from one end of the eyes to the other, tracing the shaking of the object directly before him. The charm before him is a picture of a road, resembling that which he is running on at present, but with different curves, different flowers, different spectacles to view. He sees unfamiliar mountains, purple and white, ditches and puddles, dirty and dark, and a field of sunflowers down the side of the road, smiling and dancing about. Oh how exciting, he thinks. I wonder just how many of these flowers I will see, how harsh the climb of that mountain will be, what adventures await, what wonders I will see!

The runner stops. His foot is wet, heavy, and stuck on a pool of mud. He takes one more glance at the charming picture, looks down and sees his foot. Pathetic. I could have avoided that, or at least had some fun with the mud, what thrill it would have been, had I glided over the shallow areas, or ran with lifted knees and thumped the mud!, he thinks.

So the runner gently removes his foot from the mud puddle, scrapes the dirt unto the dry road, and takes a breath. He looks around – a breathtaking view. The two mountains at a distant, side by side, blue, but clothed with yellowish trees, and around him, green bushes and ferns, tinted with gold of the sunlight. The sky is blindingly white, or rather, very brightly blue.

The runner remembers the adventure he is one right at this moment. The beauty, the wonders, the breathtaking moments he is missing out on!

The runner runs. He runs, slips, slides, glides, and jumps over the obstacles before him, all the while enjoying the view. Sweat, coating his arms and legs, streams down to his ankles. As he runs the wind, cold and fresh, tingles his skin, and he smiles. He breathes in. His lungs, filled with hot air, feels sweaty from the inside, but warm, and lively.

As he runs, the enchanting picture of another road lost its color. It was no longer enchanting, but rather gray, and too separate from the road he is running on now. The picture dangles loose, and then falls off. It lands on the road, unheard, unseen, forgotten. The road it depicted will someday meet the runner, but not now.