Soggy leaves covered the damp ground, and I listened to the soft thump of my feet as they hit the cool dirt. The air was crisp, and small spots of sun shone though onto the muddy path. The sky was protected from our view with a thick curtain of red and yellow leaves. When we glimpsed up, it was like staring into a kaleidoscope of fresh autumn colors. It was the last mile of the race. Shallow breaths encircled me, and even without turning I could picture the small beads of sweat trickling down the red faces of my fellow runners. Thump thump, thump thump. The sound of stomping feet drifted through the woods, echoing through the trees in a haunting melody of pain and sweat. I kept my eyes focused on my teammate ahead of me, watching the strain of her muscles as she pounded up the hill. One more mile, I told myself. One more mile and you’ll be done. One more mile and you can go home and drown in Chinese takeout and chocolate chip cookies. Thump thump, thump thump. I surged ahead, the cool autumn breeze caressing my cheek. The tingle of the brisk wind was exhilarating, and my feet trotted along with ease. I felt as if nothing could stop me, nothing could take away the beauty of the race and mangle it into the usual mess of pain that was the last mile. I felt strong and confident, and I could hear the serene whisper of the leaves whispering above my head.
I distinctly remember when it happened. I was finishing the fourth hill of the course when a sharp pain penetrated my side. It was as if a dull knife was trying to tear its way out of my ribs and cut a mangled line through my flesh. I had never had a side ache so painful, especially never in a race. It made the approaching hill look like Everest, and the panting girls around me changed into rabid monsters. Every second the trees became a little blurrier and the ground seemed to shake a little more with each step. My stomach bounced inside my torso and the knife ricocheted about my ribs as I came down the hill and onto the crowded field of onlookers. The tranquility of the lush forest immediately evaporated as I took my first step of the last half mile. Flashing cameras. Bellowing parents. A vuvuzela. Screaming teammates. I looked over my shoulder. Girls clad in sweaty tank tops and running shorts proudly displaying their team names in flashy colors clobbered behind me, mouths open, gasping like a fish drowning in air. The finish line seemed miles away, and I realized with a supreme annoyance in myself that I couldn’t do it. The pain in my side was like the string directing a puppet, and I slowed down to satisfy its needs. I saw a cheering teammate standing under a tree, the cool shade pooling around her feet. I started to pull over; the grass beyond the orange cones suddenly seemed very inviting.
“No!” she shouted. “You have to keep running! You’re almost there!”
But I couldn’t. The constant ache in my side was pushing forwards as if wishing to come out through my mouth. Lovely. I gripped my side in pain and wished that I could be transported to the Chinese leftovers and chocolate chip cookies. I couldn’t do it.
“I have to stop,” I insisted. “I’m going to throw up!”
But she continued to persist. Her short brown hair flopped wildly around her face as she yelled and encouraged, her face wrinkling with passion and her hands moving furiously in the direction of the finish.
“I know you can do this,” she attested. The confidence in her voice shone clearly, and I picked up my feet. I knew than what I had to do. I knew that I had to fight. There were twelve girls ahead of me, so I pumped my arms and kicked my legs. Rounding the hill, I could see the colorful specks that were the finish markers. With each step, I felt stronger. Power surged through my legs, and I felt like flying. The cheering teammates and screaming coaches all disappeared as I drew closer, and I looked down to see the white finish line flashing out underneath my feet. I had done it. The high of the race had faded, and the realization that it was all over came to me in the form of stinging lungs and collapsing legs. My knees shook as the volunteers grabbed my number and I shuffled off out of the shoot. My teammates ran to greet me. I could spot them from a mile away with their flashing green shirts and swinging ponytails. The embrace of sweaty, skinny arms and screams of excitement encircled me.
“You were great!” my teammates cheered.
“You passed her in the last second!” they bellowed.
But I smiled and shrugged past them. There was someone else I had to see. I spotted the short brown hair bobbing against the green of the grass immediately. I saw her megawatt smile as I approached. I felt the warmth of her embrace as she hugged me. And I felt the radiance of her support as she congratulated me. Without her words of encouragement, I would be back at the two-mile mark, panting and gasping with defeat. Her wisdom had carried me the last half mile, my feet floating atop her words of encouragement and my success resting atop her confidence. I grabbed her hand, and with a few other teammates in tow we jumped high in the air, our hands raised to the sky in victory.
No comments:
Post a Comment