Running Youth: Not Completely Wasted on The Young
A surprise encounter with my former running self
Beside me a bus hisses and eases its way forward, passing me as it accelerates on its route. My feet pound methodically on the sidewalk. The air is crisp as it slips in through my nose and comes out of my mouth in a misty cloud. The sting in my throat, my straining muscles, the racing of my pulse, ahhh, the beauty of it all. And to think, I’ve only just begun.
Sweat? Sweat! I’ll show them I can sweat. Establish a rhythm. Thud. Thud. Consistency. Thud. Thud. Inhale, exhale.
… Millions of people are here to watch one of the most grueling marathons of our time. And there I am, one of the prime contenders for first place. Most eyes are on me — my unique stride that many have tried, yet failed to duplicate. I hear people cheer, and they begin to chant, my name, “Lor-rie!! Lor-rie!!
SPLASH!! Brown slush smacks my entire left side, shattering my idle fantasy, bringing me back to the bus route. I watch the evil Corvette zoom ahead. Skid, roll, and explode, you nasty Richie!
Carry-on. We’ll show them. Why, I’ve been going for four whole blocks now, and I’m not even considering exhaustion. Maybe I should enter a marathon — what, 26 odd miles? No sweat. I know: the triathlon! I am Pisces…
