Body

The biggest joy with trail running comes from putting one leg ahead of another on rugged terrain. The biggest mistake is going too quick, as I learned yesterday from the training with my running partner along the Hong Kong Trail. With lush green shaded paths, imposing panoramic views of beach, reservoirs and isles, it's hard to pass up the opportunity if you're ever given one, and more so if the partner happens to be a kidney transplant patient of mine. And whilst first-timers might feel more comfortable soaking up the beauty of nature without adrenaline, there will always be people like me who prefers to strive for speed. 

Whoa, I crossed the finish line with multiple wounds and a swollen knee from tripping.

My daughter couldn't help reading me an essay after seeing what had happened to my body. That's about a runner's determined descent at breakneck speed. "Time stopped," the paragraph begins, "a protruding branch yanked at Benson's ankle. Gravity ripped Benson down to the ground. The crowd silenced, and now the only noise that could be heard was a sickening crack of Benson's bones upon the ground. He didn't move again." I wanted to correct her reading: Wait a sec, Jasmine, that story's not about Benson. It's me.

This reminds me of the thriller novel All the Dangerous Things by Stacy Willingham. She writes with ravaging bluntness about the body feelings. It is a torture with knowing spouse's extramarital affairs, she tells us. "My nails squeezing into my sides, making it hurt.," she observes, "I imagined them leaving little crescent-shaped slits in my stomach like bite marks, sinking deep into my skin." 

The author describes the feeling of divorce such as forgetting the smell of aftershave in detail. "Not anymore, though. Now, whenever I see him, I taste something metallic. Like sucking into pennies or licking a fresh wound, tasting blood on my tongue."

That's the essence of crafting story: utterly body sensation.