I might as well have ran out of the womb, running from the start. I was breach and caused Mum alot of trouble during my birth. I find it interesting that the sonogram she showed me pictured me cross legged with my arms behind my head just “chillin” in the womb really. I would never feel what was in that picture, peace.

Very young, I quickly learned to jog from the feeling of loneliness I could not comprehend. Emanating from my mother was a pain I could not yet understand, but I would soon enough. Oh how I would. And now I look back at her with such gut wrenching empathy I can barely process it.

In early childhood I continued at a jogging pace since my young spidey sense told me something was looming. I was then struck by the trauma of being separated from my sister by a strange man who smelt like leather. We were at a park while my father played soccer. I ran so far that day, literally down several blocks, across a street, through the parking lot and directly into the middle of my Dad’s game. Figuratively I ran so far I folded in on myself to never fully ever come back out again; I knew more running was coming and better brace one’s self. I hate the smell of leather to this day, it makes me vomit and have terrible flashbacks. My sister and I never really talked about it. One time she said “I left the cub unsupervised”. And I reminded her that he got us with the biggest cliche in the book. “Can you help me find my cat?”. We were predetermined prey. Sadly, we also both loved cats and if our cats were lost we would of wanted someone to help us after all. There is no real running from a loss of innocence, when you realize the world is very scary indeed, and it will harm you. Better tighten the laces.

This set a new pace of a steady run which was solidified when my school mate was taken, murdered, and found in concrete blocks. I remember the terrifying, paralyzing thought that I had been taken too...and somehow I was the lucky one. It could of been so much worse. I should be grateful for what happened to me. Now that is a thought worth running from. The night terrors of that classmate last until this very day. It was easier for those around me to let me run as well. This subject was surrounded by deafening pregnant silence at dinner, when we actually sat and spoke rarely, in response to my not-age-appropriate-questions. Who really has answers for such tragic things? Certainly not my teachers, they thought an announcement covered it for us all left behind in the wake of grief. It sunk in, I must run from the larger fear that my classmate‘s story was heart wrenchingly not unique. So many acts of violence. No where felt safe. Fight or flight. I ended up doing alot of both. I would discover all the different kinds of running.

I ran right into extreme levels of multiple sports; Basketball, Waterpolo, Volleyball, Synchronized Swimming. The basketball I played was at a City and Provincial level. I am such a ‘has been‘ in today’s times (everyone’s time eventually passes in high level competitive sports - even in the WMBA - I am ok with it). It was called “rep” or “travel” ball. I was Captain of both rep and schools teams. Running from feelings by burying them in finite goals. Often times that allowed me to run 7 games a weekend, and 4 hours of practice a night, and two hours in the morning on week days. Feelings could not catch me. A recipe for athlete’s burn out 101. Even if we won, I was happy for the team, but I always always felt like I did not run ENOUGH? I needed to be better. I was called a “defensive specialist” because I understood defence so much more than offence. Same as in life in many ways. I was used to trying to defend myself, I could tranfer it to defending my team. I most definitely knew how to read the personality of the point guard of the opposing team and ‘Art of War’ her into making silly mistakes - then causing her to get frustrated to the point of making further mistakes. Taking away their offence was my best defence. Constant, unrelenting pressure, never stop moving your feet for a second, and watch the belly button because it is much harder to fake someone out using the stomach area. Eyes on the prize. You are not getting by me. Treading water. A stand off. Running on the spot for more than a decade. If we won, we ran together, and further into the season. More opportunity to put off processing anything happening to me physically and or emotionally.

Some times running on the spot is because you are in shock. I dared to try and have some memories outside of sports and I had a group of “friends” (so sad that I truly thought I had found some that I could hold still with), put something in my half of a beer, as I had a game at 8 am and was not drinking. I remember snippets of being dragged to the side of the house. It was so cold outside. My knees bled as I was dragged. My injuries I sprinted from at 8 am the next day, I played one of the best offensive games I ever played. If I sprinted fast enough ! I did not have to look back ever. Even though I faced those boys every day for four more years and most times they were side lines at all school games and practices. I found it ironic I had to run “suicide sprinting drills” in front of them while they did not break a sweat, and I made no progress healing with my watch dog attackers. Who to tell? I trusted no one.

I ignored all the signs of the build up of all this sprinting...I had a job, got straight A’s despite having to teach myself ways to cope with obvious learning disabilities. So I squeezed in some social time in between basketball practice; I sprinted from my mother who was trying to reach out to me in her and our family’s own suffering. I sprinted from what I could not understand, but I was beginning to understand. I ALREADY WANTED TO RUN RIGHT OFF EARTH; and then that is what SHE did. I never got to say goodbye. I resented and envied her choice. FEELING the pain she left behind I panicked and then raced to not become like her, while still thinking about her every day since.

I raced against the bullies at school, who would yell “I heard your Mom offed herself “ in a busy hallway, and everyone would stare and whisper. At first, I was the plague, and then the source of comfort for others discovering running from life. Other students’ parents, siblings, and friends, started dying from all kinds of circumstances. And then my good friend, the one who held me on my first day back in French class after Mum died, as everyone teased me for having a mother who ‘killed herself’. ‘Who left me behind‘. My sweet friend got in her car in her garage. And never came back out. I could race no more. I could not race HERE anymore anyway. I had to really shift gears now. No more running on a treadmill. Time for cross country(s) running.

I quickly, probably too quickly, raced all the way to Europe deferring life altering, hard earned, school acceptance letters. To be an aupair. I loved those kids like my own and realized even more that I do not want children. I would die if they had to run too, and see what they hit along the way. I coped with obsessive work outs at a gym, after being alone in a strange country I was vulnerable again. I did not know where to walk, let alone race, sprint, run, or even jog. Right when I needed to run for help the most, I did not know how. The ongoing assaults I endured from someone who relaized I was an easy target. The bullying and cruelty from the woman I worked for. I could hear Mum loud and clear calling; I could follow her map of running since I am lost on the other side of the world being hurt badly and no one knew. But that reminded me to fight being like her in this way once more and finished my contract and ran all the way home to the mother ship I had tried to escape in the first place. Now it is a marathon right into the past.

I was susceptible and an easy target for someone to show me the smallest amount of kindness and like a ball and chain, it would force me to stop and stay still. It took two years for ’the monster‘ to come out , just enough time to get a false feeling of not needing to flee. I managed to finish school though, I cannot comprehend how whilst being in such non stop state of terror of physical and mental harm. The abuse leaves marks that haunt you. Ten years later I would have surgery on the toe he used to stomp and break in rage. Present day there is not a day that does not go by I do not look over my shoulder and have an over active startle response to fight or flight. Back then the police officers I tried to get help from had less training about the unique complexities of domestic situations. I was not treated with care and I was told I got what I deserved for dating a “psychotic person”.

When running while looking over your shoulders, you might as well run backwards. You will also definitely hit something. I tried to focus on the joy of my job and then a coworker was almost killed by her husband. She focused on me and even threatened my life because I covered her job while she was in hospital. I left medical leave to “hold her spot” for her because I actually felt so much empathy for her. Empathy again betrays me. I never properly healed from that surgery coming back too soon for 12 hour shifts and rotating night shifts. She sent and posted 100’s of hate messages about me daily from the safety of her recovering at home. The fact that other coworkers would tell me about it since I am not on social media due to safety concerns from ‘the monster’, was appalling. Proxy third party bullying too really? I tried not to run and use my union. They did not want to stand against someone who had been attacked. I went to the police and they did not believe me that she could do this, since she herself was a victim months prior; Well it is called the cycle of abuse and sometimes the abused becomes the abuser. I ran from the job without justice. Old habits die hard. She is a single mother, I did not want to mess with her job. Empathy has always been the death of me. I proactively ran to a new company. It was so hard to not want to run out of the interview. With PTSD interviews are so traumatizing and triggering, especially if someone is wearing leather for instance. Also, those statements on applications say they welcome all people, like those with disABILITIES, and many do not. I was so proud I got the job. I thought maybe I have fought the good fight to be rewarded with a still safe space.

Soon enough just enough time had passed to think - am I standing still and living ? I got shocked out of my trance with a starter gun going off due to the abuse of power by my manager. Running from manipulation and harassment and inappropriate behaviour for eight straight years. She used the love I have for her daughter to metaphorically gag me from deservingly reporting on her. Which I absolutely should of done, but I decided to take running laps this time and go for the long distance run. I care about my clients too much to run from them because of an unwell person who sadly sits in a power position. The harassment wheel should really be posted in offices everywhere. Again I am not unique and that is a thought that turns my stomach and can create hopelessness.

Today I cannot run anyway. I tried to run from writing this story, but I cannot outrun a degenerative disease, and writing is something it cannot take from me, yet. I want to leave more than a legacy of running. I cannot out run physical daily chronic pain. I face it . I face my bullies even though it murders my soul at times. I try and appreciate all the small things -like a hug from my husband, cuddling with my cat, a client thanking me for helping them. Though I can not use my survival tool of running anymore, I sure do blade. When I roller blade, it is better than running, I feel totally free from all the life miles chasing me, but I am much faster now that I found my wheels, I almost fly.

”Boleyn! Are you listening?”

Boleyn looked up at her client, he was having some violent thoughts today and trying to apologize. She has extra heart space for him, however she cannot breath after waking the computer from sleep mode. She is trying to process the eight years of harrassment from a colleague/“friend” that she thought was over. A chat window is open. The harrasser is passing the torch to the new incoming manager. Boleyn doesn’t feel she can endure this, but she will.

”Sorry, I was just shuting down the computer, how can we make today less stressful for you?”