Running

Finally something by Caitlin.

My tangled hair swishes behind me as I sprint through the streets of the city.  My boots thud softly on the ground, like raindrops pattering on a rooftop.  Ragged gasps tear from my lips.

Leila leads the way; she’s up ahead, but still a good 200 meters away.  Occasionally, I see her round the corners, but she stays out of my reach.  I’ve lost Chris somewhere far behind, but I still can’t beat Leila.  

I clench my fists and pick up my pace.  But she gets farther and farther away; I can’t keep up.  How can she run like that without tiring?  My lungs heave with the effort.  I’m not used to running this fast.  

For the first time, there’s no joy in running.  There’s no familiar feeling of the wind caressing your face, of the way the soles of your shoes slap the concrete.  No, it’s just like I’m diving under the surface of the water, the sky so far away, and my legs feeling as if they could fall off if I let them.  

I slam into the brick wall where we finish and sit down, closing my eyes.  The world spins around me, and I taste blood in my mouth.  

Patrick comes up to me, and I hear him click the stopwatch a few times.  “Good job, Chiara,” he tells me.  “6:26.  Keep going.”  I don’t respond.  His footsteps recede as he returns to his original position.

6:26.  Eighteen seconds slower than I need to be.  15 seconds faster than usual.  

I let out a breath.