The Knight Run
Calling powerful emotions to arms
“To send light into the darkness of men’s hearts, such is the duty of an artist”
— Robert Schuman
“It’s 10 pm, raining and you are going out?” she said, “need to calm down” my default reply. “ You inspire me” she says, though I can’t imagine why.
“You don’t push yourself like this when you are alone do you?” she said, “always, so we don’t find out what happens if I take something else to that level” I answer.
“In my opinion, it certainly seems as if exercise has saved your life, maybe more than once” she said. I smile and change the topic, wanting to be alone to walk with my demons.
What follows is not how people should use training. What follows is an account of a single source of my passion and purpose. I imagine a regular sort of person would consider what follows as a sort of illness or condition. To that I agree, but don’t bother trying to convince me of anything. It’s on each of us to handle our demons. Mine could have destroyed me long ago, instead, I believe, for a higher purpose, I am still here.
The Knight Run
I’ve had my dinner after some kind of fucking day. An early dinner means I’ll be fidgety later, without a glorious carb comma to settle me in tonight. It’s only 7 pm, I still have time to plug around before the night comes. I figure I’ll do some social media or other senseless shit to distract me. 8 pm, I had better plunge my lusting mind into something, it’s too quiet and that means too much thinking. 9 pm and the sun is down now, the beautiful darkness is here to cover my world, at times this can be my favourite time of day. 10 pm and my loneliness peaks, nothing around to stimulate my thoughts. The energy of the silence and darkness of the night take grasp of my heart. Burn nights I call them, I have lived many these past couple of years, in hindsight, they are a gift from my gods.
First I will call them out. Like a street fight if you want to know what you are made of you have to provoke something scarier than yourself. It’s either music or writing for me, or fuck it throw down and mix both. It’s my way of calling them, calling powerful emotions to arms to ensure my war. If we are going to fight one of us will win and one of us will lose. I can only promise to throw down every last bit of my soul I summon. I heat up, my thoughts and feelings begin to spiral like a hurricane. The thought crosses my mind that this state of readiness doesn’t last long, I need to find my armour. I get myself covered up in time as the hurricane rages in full force. Repression sets in, I need to leave this room, the time has come, my street fight of angels and demons.
I rush out the door into the cold night air. The suffocating air of the apartment leaves. Chills wreak havoc on my exposed pores finding their way deep into my spine. I start my music, the last breath before I lose control. I trace these letters on my arm, I know them by heart. Crash Crash Burn, work built on a foundation of passion I tell people. A war with my demons I hold back. I trace these letters on my arm, I know them by heart. Ashes Like Snow, embracing the present no matter the situation I tell people. The closer you are to death the more alive you feel I hold back. I whisper the words, my call to arms: kings are not born they are made, dreams are not made they are won. Like clockwork, my scars split open and my heart screams in pain like a savage. I close my eyes to embrace the moment. The cold air breathes fire born adrenaline through every vein in my body. I am ready.
The first couple of minutes in motion are pure aggression. I can not recall what has happened, where I have been, or how fast my legs have been moving. All I know is my lungs, my lungs are being ripped apart. My return to consciousness informs me that I have procured enough pain to bring me back to the present. The bell rings and the bout begins. Mentally I strategise, I map the remaining route, the time it should take, and my personal best time. The punches start here, insatiable energy, ambitions of overrunning my demons of old. Ambitions of surviving yet another emotional altercation.
Two songs have gone by, which means there is four more to go. Four more, tonight I will put that to the test. My legs will not fail me, not after years of training abuse, I am coming to life. Tonight I meddle with the oldest energies I have, the shit that keeps me awake at night. Tonight I want a fucking fight.
Another song goes by and somehow I am much closer to the end than I should be, a knockout victory it seems is in my grasp. I will need only two more songs to push me back to safety. My heart rate watch yells about my excessive pulse. Sustained 190+ bpm is high even for my 26-year-old heart, my consciousness tries to call me back. My lungs have become completely numb to the abuse. Awareness of injury tries to cover the scene in a fog, I take it in faith that my angels protect me.
I finish my last turn onto my street, 3 short blocks and this will all be over. I glance to the end, and my focus breaks. Immediately I cramp under my ribs, breathing becomes painful. My demons taunt me with a submissive walk to the finish line. Final song switch and I re-engage them, through this pain, I will be winning the day.
An aggressive attack delivers me to the finish line, back to the safety of my home. Something isn’t right. I’ve won this run far too quickly. I walk in circles to regain my senses, I close my eyes in hopes of calming my raging heart. Something is wrong. This hasn’t gone to plan. My legs pressurised with blood and oxygen stretch my skin. I mentally cauterize my scars for future treatment. My lungs are smouldering as my breathing calms back to normal. Not normal, almost normal, something is fucking with me, I can’t break the darkness in my head.
I realise this isn’t over, I can’t believe that I could have much left in me. Even after I’ve stopped pacing and my skin has cooled the darkness consumes my thoughts. A void of dark emptiness disrupts my personality. I can’t go back into my apartment as I can’t be certain of what happens next.
I have no option, I prepare for more. My reserve playlist engaged, earphones back in and my hood up to block out the calm of the dark streets. I have no idea how to prepare myself for what’s to come. I am scared now as I should have been the first time, it seems likely this time I could be hurt. A self-loathing grin comes to my face. My demons have gained strength through our trials, once again I will test their mettle.
I trace the letters on my arm, Crash Crash Burn, an oath of effort. I trace the letters on my arm, Ashes Like Snow, an oath of courage. I whisper the words that offer me the pain of living:
A king is made, by doing good and living damned.
Dreams are won by not surrendering them.
Fortune favours the bold.
Again, I am ready.
