We can spend our whole lives with stilted gaits, stumbling walks, clumsy feet kicking our own ankles. Time, (years) till if we are lucky we fall into our rhythym, rolling forward with smooth movements, seamless. The insides of my shoes are lined with scuff marks.

The first time I read A Separate Peace, I fell in love with Phinny. It was his walk that did it for me, the way it rolled in fluid motion, wavelike, so that it could not be called bouncing and not striding and not walking or running. A form of locomotion above and beyond, somewhere near graceful dance. I don't remember the words that were used. I just remember the picture I saw, health on the move.

I remember sun, and running across the lawn far behind everyone, lagging, losing the race. Some glorious days I'd hit a stride, a sailing legs stretched soaring stride, and I knew that was the way I was designed to be. This was the way bodies were meant to behave, our running turned to air, flying midleap.

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