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I'm gonna die.

My knees are heavy.

It's unpleasant to breathe.

I can't do this.

Wait.

I can do this.

The rain moistened my face and curled the straying hairs. I sucked in the damp air; aching, deep, piercing breaths. The gravel made it's crunching noise while I struggled - reminding me of a crucible of some sort.

Two in through the nose, two out through the mouth.

My eyes hurt.

I can't make it.

I can.

I can't make it.

I can.

I continued to waver as I  reflected back on the previous 3/4 of a mile. She had pulled me out of the house, in the rain to jog. After eating pizza, too. (The healthy egg-version, albeit.)

 "I'll cramp!" - I said.

Oh, well. So there I went. Wearing a too-big rain coat and complaining all the way to the trail. She laughed. (I guess I just have that affect on people.)

I'd done it before. I knew how it was. It was no picnic. At all.

"The bench...the bench...the bench...you're almost there."

I closed my eyes. It was easier that way; in the dark all I felt was myself going up and down...lightly...gracefully...painlessly...breathe...breathe...

And I nearly ran right into Kara. So much for that.

"Go to the next bench," she said, pointing optimistically.

I rolled my eyes at her. "You gotta be kidding me."

She grinned. "If you get to the bench I'll make you some tea."

"Oh...tea." I panted aloud,  "And we have cream, too! I requested it when Mom went shopping."

"Very good," replies the voice of fitness itself. She's still grinning.

Tea. I can do it for tea.

But it was a long way down there: To the curve, around the curve, down the hill, past the goal post, around that eternity of a fence...past the pond...all the way over there...

But I could do it for tea.

I was sure I could.

And I did; gasping, closing my eyes (between segments of making sure I didn't jog right off the path), telling myself I was almost there, promising, subconsciously, that it would be closer by the next time I opened my eyes...there it was. Closer...closer....any minute now...and I flopped onto the sturdy, steady, still bench.

I had made it.

I panted s'more. Kara paced around in a circle s'more. And, after somewhere around three minutes, the next goal was decided on. And I protested...and I agreed.

But it was too hard.

I ran.

It hurt.

My head ached.

What was that...that weird swelling behind my eyes...

And I suddenly realized something.

I'm going to cry.

I thought to myself; "I ought to keep running until I collapse of exhaustion...then they'll know how terribly hard this is..." But I kept going.

The breath swelled, expanded...ached in my throat.

 My knees felt like ten-pound weights. Made out of lead. Marbled with iron.

I stopped.

And I sat down.

And I grabbed my knees.

And then I lay down completely in the wet grass and watched the clouds overhead.

How peaceful.

And she stood over me; laughing, clicking pictures with my phone. (After she reached down to fumble in my pocket for it.) But it was all in good fun.


Now, as I try to think of a good way to wind up this story and encourage somebody, I have a better idea. What object lessons do you think could come out of this story? Fun or serious, I don't care - this jogging session was a mix of both.

 

(No. That's not me - Kara took a few similar pictures though. :P  The only difference is the long skirt, weather,  rain-jacket and braid .)

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