The other day, on my run I noticed thunderclouds gathering and the sound of thunder getting louder and louder. I have often heard stories of people getting struck by lightning , and, typical coward that I am, began to sprint home. Out of nowhere I felt a push and continued to propel my legs forward, faster and faster and faster. It felt like the ground was moving under my feet. I felt like the world, my house, the trees, were rushing forward to greet me.

In the confines of my home I was finally able to slow down, but my breathing continued, faster and faster and out of control. I never realized how much I was exerting myself. But something primitive kicked in, a drive to survive, and it carried me home.

I’m not a hippy. I’m not someone who’s willing to dump all signs of a capitalist, mainstream, conformist life to go live in the woods alone. But I’ll admit that I’ve never felt more alive, than when I’ve felt like I was running for my life.

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