You know how it is sometimes. You work your whole life, paycheck to paycheck, doing what you gotta do. And you get to a certain age and you start thinking about… what was it all for. What did I actually DO. Not like, work wise, but something that was just for ME. Something pure, you know? Something that didn’t have a boss or a bill attached to it. And for a while, I had that. It was this one thing, this running, just for the feel of it, the breath in your lungs, the way the world just quiets down around you when your feet hit the pavement. No one watching, no one judging. Just that quiet hum inside your head. It was… a gift. And then you start getting good at it. You enter a few local things, just for the laugh, really. And suddenly people are clapping. People are talking. People are saying, "You could really DO something with this." And the thought of that. The thought of it becoming another thing you HAVE to do, another thing with expectations, another weight. You know that feeling when you're almost there, almost at the finish line, and the crowd is roaring, and you can practically TASTE it, the victory, the whole thing. And for a second, a split second, you just… freeze. Because what if winning means losing the one thing that was just for you? What if that gold medal or that trophy just becomes another stone in your pocket, another thing you have to live up to for the rest of your days? And then you're running slower. Not like you're tired, not really. But just… pulling back. Letting someone else have it. Letting them have the glory. And now you’re walking home, the quiet hum is gone, replaced by this… emptiness. This hollow space where that pure thing used to be. And you feel like you just stole something from yourself. Or from someone else. I don’t know. Just… that feeling. That quiet shame.