The only time I would ever go for a run is after 19 hours in bed, so tonight I went. There are not many things I hate in life as much as running. And what stokes my fire most is that some people actually enjoy it! They actually work it into their daily routine and sign up for miles of it. I would rather tear out my teeth with a pair of rusty garden shears. But I had been horizontal all day, and since I couldn't find the garden shears I laced on my nikes. At first I sought ways to avoid the familiar pain who had acquainted himself with me on my last run. I stretched my ligaments; I screwed an iPod into my ears; I watered up. Then with manly music blaring into my ego, I shot off down the driveway. Immediately I hit the runner's high (oxymoron, though it is). Cool night air rushed over my face, the two pistons in my legs shot off faster and faster, and I became a running machine. Trees, mailboxes, and little boys whooshed past in a blur -- there was no limit to my monstrous speed! Then after 500 yards I cleared my neighborhood and turned onto the main sidewalk. My tank guzzled the last drop of gas and my runner's high airplane crashed in a fiery explosion. The anvil of pain had been swinging over my head, but now the rope snapped and it crushed me.
First to go were my abs. The fibrous meat under my ribcage tightened up like a boa constrictor. This took my lungs out of combat, for I couldn't breathe with a snake around my gut. I kept my legs pounding against the concrete. My pipes backlogged with mucus and grime that I hokked out onto the pavement ahead of me. My legs shut down.
You can always tell runner by their clothes: gym shorts, tight shirt, parasitic headphones. You can also tell a runner by their twisted, aching, grimacing face. Nothing looks more out of place than a runner who is smiling. And there is a good reason for that. To be sure I wasn't smiling. But I was breaking the other cardinal rule of running: no walking. It's in the job description of runners not to walk, and now I felt humiliated -- walking -- in plain sight of all the cars. I wonder what the chances are of being seen by someone I know. I started my legs up again, but the snake tightened and gave me an awkward limp. After a few concrete squares I was reduced to walking again.
Hours ago in bed I foresaw this agony and gave myself a target; I would make it to Five Guys, running, walking, or crawling. After a mile (half I had walked) the snake uncoiled and slid off. I commenced running again. A blister was rubbing itself to life between my first two toes, but for fear of wussness I trod on. There is something masculine -- something rebellious -- about saying no to your body; welcoming pain and laughing in the face of comfort; setting a goal to reach no matter what breaks, bursts, tears, or swells. These things teach determination and poison defeat with blood, sweat, and tears. Though my flesh argued otherwise, I was going to reach Five Guys.
And I did. With one goal conquered, I pivoted and set another one. I would walk 1/4 mile back to the intersection and then run nonstop back home. It was 5,280 feet back home from the intersection: much farther than I thought I could run. But the only way to learn drive and determination is to reach for things higher than your grasp. I panted at the crosswalk, dreading the moment then the light would slide down to red and it would be safe to run (as if it ever is). The orange hand went down and showed me a stick man walking, so I groaned and pounded across.
To make it home without stopping, I set a steady pace. The sidewalk slabs were my metronome, and they passed under me with a steady rhythm. My heart pounded in my knees. The only fuel left burned in my head -- it was the tyrannical will to succeed. I wish I could hire a monster for workouts like these. Fangs and claws could speed me home like magic. But adrenaline doesn't come for the asking, and I beat on like a dead man. Two legs ran underneath me, but I was off somewhere else. Time drained on like a leaky faucet. Even my music seemed to play in slow motion. The world was waiting for me to drop. When I spotted my green street sign, I summoned every cell of energy left alive and ran as fast as I could for the door (not fast, as fast as I could). For 500 yards I sweated enough to keep North Carolina out of the drought for years.