The Taste of Freedom

One summer’s day in June, about 15 years ago, I looked out of my jail cell in England’s infamous Wormwood Scrubs Prison in London. Craning my neck against the barred window, I was just able to see the corner of a large expanse of grass beyond the prison walls. Compared to the drab grays that permeated my cell and the prison as a whole, the grass looked more than alive—it seemed to represent life itself. I closed my eyes and imagined running across the park, breathing hard, free to roam.

In that moment, I said to myself, “When I get out of here, I want to lay my head on the pillow at the end of each and every day, knowing I made the most of that day that I could.”

At that stage in my life, I had run a little: from the police at street demonstrations; ahead of foxhounds seeking to throw them off the scent of their prey; and, of course, from myself. When I arrived in America, I discovered the power of running anew: as an agent of change.

A former 60-a-day smoker and alcoholic, running even a mile seemed a tall order. But one mile became five; five became ten; ten became a first marathon. Over the last 15 years, running has been the foundation upon which I have built a new life—a life as a husband, father, writer, and life coach and seminar leader.

Many mornings as I run free alongside the Los Angeles river or at the water’s edge between the Long Beach marina and the end of the peninsula, I think of those months of imprisonment. As I do, the fresh air in my lungs tastes a little sweeter.

And as I run, I consider a powerful question: “Is there any way in which I am ‘imprisoning’ myself now?” And usually there is. There is some way in which I see that I am confining myself, choosing to live at less than my best.

Perhaps I haven’t listened to those I care for most as well as I could. Maybe it would have been bigger (and wiser) of me to have let that other driver in front of me on the freeway rather than accelerate to push him out; maybe it could be me that calls first to reconnect with friend who has been out of touch for a while. I notice that as I consider all these courses of action, my heart softens.

As you run (or walk, swim, cycle, skate, kayak, etc!) next time, I invite you to consider the same question. If there is one thing that you are doing or being that you recognize is holding you back from a life of greater joy, love, and fulfillment, set the intention—fight there in the midst of the expansion of your workout—to change your behavior and set yourself free.

I’ll see you on the “outside!”