Why I Run

I run because there is a monster in my brain.
It resides in the corner of my brain where I keep a list of all the things I have to do.
Most days, as I go about my business, I feel it rustle and bump around, but it is only a minor annoyance. Other days, it roars to life with a vegence. Through it's eyes I see the pile of magazines on the hearth that need to be filed or recycled, the dishes in the sink that need to be washed. There is paint peeling in the hallway that needs to be scraped and repainted. The kids need to learn to clean their rooms better. I should make a chore chart. Their clothes need to be gone through and expunged, that would make it easier. I need to shop for dinner. I need to organize the storage room. Really, someone should take that pile of giveaways to the curb. Why can't I remember to bring the recycling bags with me into the store? Then I wouldn't have to deal with these plastic bags everywhere. I need to get a dr. appointment for my son. Does he need a hearing test? We need to work on multiplication facts. I should read to them at night. Do I have a 3 month supply of food in case of a pandemic? I should organize this better so I know what I have. I should call that lady about whether she needs help while her husband is away...
And so it goes. With each added item, the monster grows longer and fatter. It's a giant grub with green tentacles that reach into each lobe of my brain, squeezing out all thought and function until I have to consciously tell myself to breathe.
That is when I try not to think and pull out lycra instead. I squeeze into it, lace up my running shoes, and shove in my earphones. I run and run and run until the only thing I can concentrate on is the rythm of my feet, in time with the music. I run until I don't have to concentrate on breathing anymore, it wheezes out of me in a desperate reflex to keep me alive.
The pounding seems to lull the monster to sleep, and when I'm done--soaking and heaving, my brain seems hollow and quiet.
Taking a shower, a tiny tentacle tentatively searches. The monster is not dead, but the tentacle in manageable: The most important priority somehow sifted to the top.
I'll methodically lop off the tentacles as they appear, until the monster multiplies unchecked again. Then I will lace up my shoes, and run again.