22 Jul

Gun. It’s mostly cloudy with a chilly breeze, slight drizzle, fifty-four degrees. I breathe the spring air, in, out, in, out. I hit the first incline and settle into a rhythm. I smell the wet grass, I listen to the slap of my shoes against road. My knee feels strong. In the first mile, I barely touch the pavement. I’m high-school strong. My feet fly.

Four. It’s getting hotter. Very little shade on this part of the course. My knee feels a little stiff. But my feet are still fresh. I chew some jelly beans. I fly through the water stop.

Seven. No shade. Cloudless sky. The air is thick. Fingers are swollen. Gagging on gummy bears.

Eleven. Sticky tar. Clenched fists. Burning lungs. Orange slice. Throbbing knee. Steep hill. Wobbling ankles. Ice water.

Twelve. Sweat. Blister.

Finish. My lungs open, my fists uncurl, I fly, I float, I glide across the finish line, blood pooling in my left shoe.


Leave a Reply

Please log in using one of these methods to post your comment:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: