Even though it’s not home, I feel at home when I’m running. When there are so many things going on in my head, I go for a run to sweat them out. Pittsburgh is the least “home” running place for me. One of the best places to run in the world (in my opinion) is in Erie, PA on Presque Isle. It’s flat, quiet, and most of the runners are girls. It feels like you are always running with a friend. People pass you or you pass people. Personally, I let people pass me, so I can pass them later on.
I’m home when I’m alone running. People can be around and that’s fine, but I run better by myself. I can go at my own speed. If I’m tired, I’ll slow down, if I just want to stop running, I can stop running. When I’m running with friends, I have to adjust to them. Runners are like snowflakes. None are the same, but they all look pretty.
When I think of Nature I think of a place where I can let go and be myself. Running to me is a part of nature. It’s second nature to me. The worse the weather, the more likely you’ll find me fist pumping with my Ipod on and running through the streets. I like paths. Those are my home. Pittsburgh is a place where runners have to look left and right three times before they cross, especially during the winter season. Just like how the Midwest we think of flatlands, Pittsburgh I think of curvy hills that go straight to cars. It’s not home for me.
That’s why I like my secret place. It’s in the city, and I find myself going back to it when I almost get hit by cars. You be surprised how many times I almost get hit by a car. Twice a week, twice a day during the winter seasons. I go back here and I run around. I’m free to dance, sing, and run backwards without worrying what’s behind me. I gallop in the snow and get my socks wet. I can be myself and no one can see me. But a track would be better. A path in the woods would be nice. I do have this secret place, but I feel like it’s just a summer fling in the winter season.