Time in Hand
Hold onto time.
Advice from an elderly man I read the other morning before I went out to run.
As if time were an apple to be held firmly in the palm and not a slippery fish to escape from my grasp.
I’ve never been one for fishing. Never liked the feel of wiggling worms plucked from the soil or the smell of buckets of chum. The casting of bait into water, wondering where it will sink, if it will be spotted and taken, hooked into an unsuspecting mouth.
I’ve always found it peculiar to peer over the edge of a boat and onto the water’s skin, only to see a dark and shimmering outline of myself, reflected back to me.
Eye to eye with the fish is where I’d rather be. Diving through the reefs, pirouetting under water, a ballerina with a tank of air for a corset and silvery fish for a skirt. Leading and then following the curious fish as they hold my gaze, peck my mask, dart straight my way and abruptly turn aside. 
The hardest skill to master is neutral buoyancy. Sitting cross-legged grasping my fins, suspended inches above the ocean floor, controlling my buoyancy with my breath. Inhale too much and I rise too high. Exhale too deeply and I disturb the bottom, kicking up silt. Breathe too fast and I fall over sideways, roll upside down. Falter. The effort is enormous. The trying and failing, shooting up and rolling over, muddying up my sight.
It’s not until I remember to forget myself that I can hover upright, completely balanced, and rest in the hand of time, the peacefulness of being.
Back on dry land and I struggle to regain that feeling, the relief of weightlessness and balance. Three months back from diving. Two months since I started a new training plan, ticking off every sliver of time as the days slip away.
I’m off on a mid-distance run, the elderly man’s advice ringing. Hold onto time. But I am aware of each moment, every breath, the skin taut across my jaw, the muscles recoiling with every step, the effort to get beyond the awareness of it all.
Then within two miles I’m sinking under, and the sound of breath and feet merges with the hum of breeze and birds and, finally, I am upright, completely balanced, resting in the hand of time, simply being.
More Than Running... 
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