It was two miles. Chug chuck chuck chug. The rain was pounding on my back like little fists. Dirt bouncing. Spreading. Across my legs, my chest, my face. Drenched in sweat and water from head to toe. Thunder in the distance. Trees hanging low and heavy as Chicago takes a bath.
Another runner. A few miles into his own. Pain on his face. We nod.
The further I go the harder the fall. Wet and pounding. Heaving chest.
Is this why I am who I am? From one day of trauma? From many? Is it climbing trees with my brother in the summer where we would disappear from the world to catch toads by the pond? Is it softball games with the fire department, eating hot dogs in the bleachers with mom cheering for dad when he's up to bat? Is it the first taste of true love in high school with that cute curly haired girl from the other side of the tracks; and the subsequent horrifying breakup over something at the time significant but now lost?
The path soaks. Chug chuck chuck chug. Sweat, rain, thunder. The girl on the back of the mind. Bills, cleaning, school loans, Spanish class, twenty eight years and then some, television, laundry, my body, NY, Chicago, love, lunch, grocery shopping, adopting a dog. What kind of dog? How big? What kind of training? What kind of schedule? Does she sleep in my bed or do I make her sleep on the floor? Big dog? Little dog? Will she get along with Kelly's cat named Nermal? Kelly. I can't wait for you to move in. Show Thursday. Promotion. Rehearsal. Memorize that Smiths song. Don't talk to the girl. Move on. Be a man. Get in shape. Be healthy. Eat right. Hang out with Ellie. Drink light beer. Sell your recorder. Sell your camera. Sell everything. Pay off the credit cards. Make sure you have rent. Fix your guitar. Work on your screenplay. Eat lunch. Veggie burger? Veggie burger.
Sprint this last quarter mile. You like to go fast.
Pain. Elation. Satisfaction. Heart pounding. Soaked. Sweat. Rain. Thunder. Catch your breath. Catch your breath.
Catch your breath.
