A sound of chaotic drumming, heavy beats against the soft ground, a swiftly pumping heart. The horses gallop all-out, muscles tense and rippling, necks stretched out and nostrils flared to taste the wind. They need no prompting, so I stand in the midst of the ring they run, watching, still. In my mind I am running with them.

The beauty of it is that they don’t have a reason. They aren’t training for a sport, or watching their weight, or being compelled to exercise. They do it for the surge of adrenaline, the freedom from rules, the joy of the act. Just because.

I love to run. Not long distance, I don’t have the patience or the discipline. I love to sprint, to dash, to chase, to rush, to fly. I haven’t run in a long time. I haven’t had a reason. I’m no longer in sports, no longer of the age where ‘playing’ is acceptable, no longer free from convention. I no longer do things just because.

If I can shake off the chains of self-image, perhaps I can remember how to be spontaneous. How to do things without a real reason.  Just because they’re fun. Thrilling. Wondrous. Liberating. Restoring. Restful. Unorthodox. Good. Beautiful. If I can banish my fears, I might live just because.