The Art of Running

"Ten seconds."

My arms tense, hands gripping like a madman. My stride lengthens, the space between my legs opens. My arms, as though mechanical, pump forward one at a time. Right, then left. Right. Left. Right. My eyes, they focus. I see the finish. Hair wet and clothes drenched, sweat drips down my face. Down my neck. Down my body. The redness glistens as the droplets slide. My veins throb, blood racing down its familiar track. Pulsing, my heart is the culprit. I feel it throughout my body. Everywhere. My thoughts are a blur "keep goI-RUN-almost the-this HUR-come on fat-STOP N-I feel like DY-love th-hate thi." The Rosetta Stone couldn't even decipher. I know this is the end. My body shrieking. My soul screaming. Faster, faster, faster.

"Workout complete."

Chest heaving, I rip my earbuds out.

Gravity takes me.

I am done.