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somewhere over the rainbow (and other stories)

  Exactly two years ago I found myself flying through a corner of a rainbow, and landed in Oaxaca, Mexico. It was the last film festival I traveled to, a brutal and sweet experience in the harshest of realities, trying to wrap my arms around the slipperiest industry and failing magnificently. Surrounded by fresh faces and eager eyes I ran from the rooms and into the street time and again, wandering off with the camera in my bag as a companion. I took pictures of a blind man that sang on the same corner every day, of wedding parades, of an old woman waiting to see the dentist.  Literally somewhere over the rainbow, I met the ugliest answers to questions I had been dragging my feet towards for years. Cramming the most delicious food into my mouth, joking at the nightly rooftop cocktail parties, grinning like the Cheshire Cat it was all coming to an end. Actually, it had ended before it even started though - and on the plane back to New York and finally Moscow the bone-crunching undertow
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to run


I have been running for a year now. One tough mile, then climbing the eight flights to our apartment door is my routine. I still feel nauseous doing it, but hours later I am floating a few inches off the ground. Sometimes there are children walking with grandparents on the path that I take. They run alongside me, and I laugh thinking about that scene in Rocky. Their feet eventually drag, they pause as I keep going and on a good day they feel like cheerleaders.

I run in the snow and ice, the rain, the mud. Sometimes I take a break for a few days, rolling a guilty eye at my sneakers and a shiver runs down the back of my arms.

The one thing that never changes is the people that I pass. They carry this suspicion, even paranoia. My footsteps are like alarm bells to them, as faces crane, eyes widen, teeth are bared behind clenched lips. I wonder how threatening my clumsy footsteps and muttered swearing can be to them. Terrifying, it seems.

Every once in a while I pass another runner, and they go unnoticed. I have no idea what I am doing that inspires such nervous attention, and how I am different from them.
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