Every muscle remembers the expenditure of energy. It was over twelve hours ago, yet the dull ache lingers in each ligament. My bones lovingly recall all moments of swift and brutal impact, filled with marrow-deep reverberations. Joints cry out with fresh movements at the recognition of those passed. Every step, every movement, kicks back the beautiful torment of physical memory.

This sweet agony will linger for the duration of the day, likely well into the morrow. It will lessen over the time, but there will be moments where it comes back full force. It will run like a shiver up my neck, or slide like a lover’s fingertips across my shoulders. Why endure the continued punishment? Why seek this out day after day, week after week? Why return to the delightful savagery, in eager sprint, time after time?

The love for it. The thrill of it. The very suffering of it sings to my soul. I detect in myself the strength of this act, the vitality it demands, the fortitude to withstand. It grants me life and clarity, a fullness I never expected. An escape I sought for decades. A peace I never knew possible.