I seek small time adventures. The simulation of danger and excitement within the reaches of safety.
I like to feel the fast thumping of my heart, my lungs screaming for sacred O2, the uncertainty as to whether my thighs will support me in just one more step, lunge, stride.
I have a trainer. A kid really at 19. Who makes me run up a hill. As fast as I can. Many times. It's a beautiful hill, gently sloping at first, gathering incline, challengingly steep at the top.
And when you reach the top, and you feel like you have no more, like you are ready to give up and lie down and let the world just run you over, you turn and see a majestic view of a sparkling bay. The ocean has never ever looked so lovely. And you look down the hill at the kid, who is yet to learn about the real hardships of life (I assume) and he calls to you to jog back down because you needed to do it all again. And you borrow from his youth and his innocence and his conviction you can do this, because you can learn from everyone, even the youngest child, especially the youngest child, about the creative nature of people and you can recall the unfaltering self belief you can have in youth, and you make that trip back down the hill to begin the journey again.
With each trip up you grow stronger, you your will becomes more decisive and you take that feeling, that you conquered the hill, you ran it up more times and faster than you thought possible, you take that feeling of possibility, fueled quite possibly by the magic of endorphins, adrenaline and serotoininv surging through your body, your mind and you know you won't ever just lie on down.
But help, sometimes, even from a boy and a hill, is needed to remind us of the things we should intrinsically just know.