One of her favorite feelings was always the adrenaline, the mood-altering kick-to-the-teeth she felt every time she got on the treadmill.
This was her high, her escape from the weight of her own private hell.
As she ran, beads of sweat matted the wispy strands that had defied her ponytail. The salt stung her eyes, made her wish that for once, she'd remember a towel.
And she smiled, knowing it was not ladylike to sweat, show the beastlike baseness that she was born with.
It made her joyful knowing that here she could be the animal she knew she was all the time.
With each hard beat of her shoe, she pumped faster, running to disappear, to escape it, to get where he'd never reach her anymore.
In her mind, she always got there.
The explosion of endorphines always left her feeling stronger, more powerful, more fight-or-flight ready. She never left the gym feeling weaker, more exposed. She departed after a 45 minute run taller, quicker, more ready to take on the next blow.
And though she kept this to herself, she knew deep down, she was stronger and could, if needed, fight and win.
This was her high. This was her warrior.
This was her confidence in the fitness room mirror, an exchange between her mind and her soul only.
A reminder that the beast still existed.
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