A Run through My Streets

One brick, five bricks, twelve bricks. Four, nine, fifteen. My feet are flying across the ground, but they’re steady, methodical in their progress. I look over at my running partner, roommate, best friend, and wonder what she’s thinking as she runs. Her focus, her effort is written in her features; she looks so alive, as I feel alive when running.

It’s hot, and I’m perspiring in a not-quite-ladylike manner. I feel my ponytail grazing the middle of my back, the breeze on my arms, the muscles tensing and releasing in my legs, the contact of my feet on the pavement.

And my eyes wander, as they oft do, taking in the distinctive townhouses, the American flags, the trees that will soon don their fall colors. Mostly they focus on the ground I’m about to cross over, however, as I am the queen of clumsy klutzes. “The Hilltop” is a nickname for Georgetown, but it takes on a whole new meaning when one runs across its surfaces. The history of Georgetown permeates its streets; in terms of practicality, the crumbling, uneven bricks make me question if running is compatible with my health: I see a rolled ankle in my future.

We run, we run, we run. My breath quickens as we continue uphill; the inner mantra, “You can do it, you can do it, you can do it” silently wars with my weak body.

The store fronts are beautiful, eclectic, and make me wonder what the spaces were used for a hundred years ago. Graveyards holding someone’s soul mate, daughter, grandfather. A school built for black students when Georgetown was segregated. Construction on someone’s front stoop. An owner taking his massive dog for a walk. A stream of pedestrians impeding our progress.

And yet we run, we run, we run. I’ve gained a second wind. My mind crosses back over the ground we’ve covered in all our runs: across Key Bridge, to DuPont Circle, passing our grocery store, by the Waterfront. The monuments usually beckon from the horizon, reminding me I’m home in DC.

My headphones slip out of my ears as we near the finish line. I wave hello to a passing friend. Suddenly I hear the sound of our feet on the pavement, now that the music no longer drowns it out. It’s therapeutic in its repetition, thump, thump, thump; our feet are dancing together, quietly but surely.

Somehow this is the perfect run. My body is tired, yes, but it nonetheless feels energized from running. The last few blocks make me want to sprint to a finish, and my muscles feel strong, sure, reliable. Faster, faster, faster, done. I breathe deeply, wipe my forehead, turn and smile at my friend, and we’re home.