There is a shimmering to my right. A few leaves kick up into a funnel in the warm wind, swirling across the trail at my feet. I always wondered what it would feel like to have one of those tiny little dust devils form around my legs. Would the air be strong enough to feel? Would it lift my hair from my shoulders or twist my jacket around my body, trying to muscle me up into the sky?
By now the leaves have passed and my thoughts drift back to the sound of my feet thunking along the path in their battered trainers. I'm only sort of a runner--it's the thing I've chosen to do that makes me less guilty about existing even if I only manage to slog through two miles twice a week. I shouldn't even feel guilty, because I am valuable and deserving and enough. These are the things I tell myself because science says they work, and I trust science. At least in theory.
Now it's a flash, like sunlight catching on the plasticky cover of a library book and drawing attention to itself. I glance into the woods, check over my shoulder for the hundredth time, but there's nothing. A bird trills its tune directly into my inner ear and I pick up my pace a little. I do a dramatic swing of my arms like a swimmer preparing to dive, and some of the tension building in my neck releases, but my elbow also catches the cord of my single earphones and pops it out to dangle near my knee. I haven't converted to AirPods yet solely because of the cost.
I leave one ear uninhibited in case someone sneaks up on me from behind. Not that the extra five seconds of warning would be of much use if that theoretical person wanted to murder me, but I guess I feel a little safer. In the time it takes me to reel up my lost bud, wipe it clear of earwax, and pop it back in, I notice that the birds are nearly screaming their joyful melodies. The smallish river alongside the trail is absolutely thunderous in its descent. The reintroduction of Beyonce to the cacophony nearly topples me, and so I bunch up the rubbery cord and shove it into the tiny pocket of my leggings instead.
This time it's like a swell of air ripples through the space beside me, sparkling. I don't see it, but it catches my eye and the tail end of the movement skitters out of view as a I whip my head to the right. Between the trees, there is nothing. Only a gentle rustle of leaves, no visible animal activity.
I take a sharp corner around a nearly decomposed stump and with a sudden whomp the air is quivering on either side of me. My legs stop of their own accord and I reflexively reach out, my eyes darting back and forth and my brain slowly registering that nothing looks different directly in front of me. Space stretches and glitters on the periphery, in that part of my vision that can't be fully trusted.
I drop my gaze to my feet, blinking. My neon green shoelace is suspended a couple of inches above my toes. It drifts across the top of my sneaker and lazily wraps itself around my ankle, the plastic crimp at the end knocking lightly against me. Before my next breath, the breeze has scooped up new leaves and pine needles, and I watch them slide past me, around my knees, past me again.
Just like that, it's happening. I can feel the breeze, and my hair does blow around straight into my mouth. The vortex forms for a collection of seconds and then melts away, leaving me with hair mussed and laces tangled. I don't realize the silence that's descended around the trail until the birds start to test their chirps again, building in volume as I lift my feet, picking back up my rhythm and checking my watch for an updated pace.
My peripheral vision stays solid for the rest of my run. I check over my shoulder every once in a while, scanning the space between trees. It takes an hour for me to trust my perception again, and another hour for the looming paranoia to float away. I take three strides through a deep patch of mossy mud and glance back to see no footprints, then remember the headphones in my pocket and plug back in to Beyonce.
