by Sarah Heins

Every morning before dawn breaks, I run—
moving with my body beneath the pre-sunset darkness

I traverse silent streets
illuminated by the soft glow of windows from suburban houses,
where parents are drinking coffee and watching newsreels,
babies are sleeping in padded cribs,
and children are donning their stiff school uniforms.

My shadowed figure slices through the chill air,
the gossamer fabric of my tech shirt swaying subtly across my abdomen
with the cadence of my
steady
strides.

I am outside the comfort of those homes.
Exposed.
But I am not suffering.

While I lack the protection of a brick wall and radiators,
my own body seals me from the winter.
Warm blood courses through my veins,
propelled forward by the strong, faithful beating of my heart:
140, 150, 160 times per minute,
it contracts and relaxes, sending energy from my core to my flesh.
My blood vessels dilate in perfect time
to bring nutrients to my muscles and heat to my skin.

Although my walls are transparent and my radiator is invisible, I am glowing.
Protected.
As I emanate my own cocoon of warmth.

I disappear deeper into the reliable rhythms of my body:
My ponytail bibs up and down, slapping my shirt shoulder blades to the beat of each step.
My arms pump with a cadence faster than my churning legs, egging them on.
My feet pound steadily on the cement—a metronomic constant.
Right foot, left foot, repeat.

Wrapped in the security of my corporeal home,
I become one with the terrestrial world around me—
flying down the empty streets,
over dusty concrete worn smooth by an insensible familiarity
formed by tens of thousands of footsteps.

With each stride,
the contours of my shoes compliment that of the road,
like a glove between myself, the streets, and my sole.

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Sarah Heins is a 29 year-old runner, writer, and medical resident, whose writing aims to link the three worlds that comprise her identity. Through creative writing, she hopes to explore the sometimes disparate universes of science, physiology, imagination, and emotion, and highlight their integral roles in the human condition. As a fervent runner, she feels this interplay between the natural and the imaginal most acutely during daily training sessions and draws on this experience as an avenue for reflection and inspiration for her writing.

In her work as an undergraduate English major at William and Mary, research assistant at The University of Pennsylvania, Medical Student at Georgetown University, and now as a doctor at Thomas Jefferson University Hospital, Sarah has published works in numerous genres: beginning with her honors thesis on the poet-physician William Carlos Williams, to patient-centered health articles for her medical school’s website, to peer-reviewed articles in scientificjournals, to personal essays on the trials and tribula#ons of medical training. Born and raised in Wilmington, she has always called the streets of the Delaware suburbs her home, a sentiment that grew even stronger as she developed into a runner—logging thousands of miles on the roads where she grew up. It was this deep connection to her original hometown in Delaware and the powerful sense of home that running creates, that inspired her contribution to ARC Magazine.