Fragments

Restless

"I don't feel restless, I just like to travel."

At nine, I was a jumble of restless energy. I was that kid, the one that drove everyone insane with my constant tapping of the desk, big movements and general impatience.

I couldn’t sit still for more than five seconds, and even that was a struggle. I preferred to be outside and on the move.

It was my teacher who first suggested I take up running. I think she finally had enough of me disrupting the lesson due to some kid complaining about my tapping. At first I was wary.

“I mean, who runs? Bikes are way more fun.” I said to a bored Serena and Sammy.

“Yeah, but if you run it might actually stop you from having so much energy.” Sammy countered thoughtfully.

“Having energy is a good thing!” I sighed, flopping back onto the soft grass. It was summer, and the school field was open. If you ate your lunch quickly you were guaranteed a good spot under the shade of the trees. Today we hadn’t been fast enough, so we were right in the line of the hot rays. I felt like I was being cooked.

“Maybe,” Serena said slowly. “But having too much energy isn’t always a good thing…” She gestures to my hands, and I realise I’ve been tapping the ground. Again.

Maybe running would be a good idea.

Later that week, I’m warming up with all the other kids who are taking part in this running club. There’s not very many of us, mainly boys, but with one or two other girls. It’s led by our p.e teacher, a tall, balding man with a red plastic whistle and a chunky stopwatch on his wrist.

“Right, line up!” He snaps, and immediately all conversation stops as we scurry to get in line. White lines have been freshly sprayed onto the field to form a 1500 metre lap, with lines for the 100, 400 and 800 metres marked on. “Now, I want to be here as much as you do,” he barks, wiping sweat from his forehead.

It’s another stupidly hot day, and beads of sweat trickle down the backs of my legs and arms already. All I want is an ice cool lemonade, but instead I’m at this stupid running thing in penance to my teacher.

“I’ll time you; let’s start by doing a 1500.” At this, half the class groans. “Shut up! Everyone has to do this. Now, try not to faint or die, as that would earn me a lot of paperwork.” We all stand staring at him for a moment, until he motions for us to go. “What are you waiting for? Get moving!” He yells, and after a few seconds we set off in a few staggered clumps.

You can tell the serious runners from the flashy trainers and determined expressions. They’re in the lead, and all of them seem to be fighting to keep in front. Straggling behind them are the ones who don’t want to be here, probably only joining in because they’ve been forced to by a teacher. I’m in the middle, feet thudding against the springy grass.

I’m busy watching the ground – childishly trying to avoid any of the daisies – when I realise I’ve passed the second white mark, the one signalling I’ve done 200 metres. Looking around I see I’ve over taken most of the other kids, and am only a few yards away from the serious runners.

I keep my pace steady, surprised at how easy I’m finding this. Sure, my breaths a little tight in my throat, but my legs feel good, like they’re meant to be moving in this fast rhythm.

However, by the time we’ve passed the 800 metre mark I’m feeling considerably worse. I’ve taken to singing songs in my head to keep the focus away from the stitch in my side and the effort it takes to breathe.

I’m on my third revival of the bohemian rhapsody when I decide to sneak a glance over my shoulder at the other runners. Surprisingly I’m way ahead of them, by 50 metres at least. Turning my attention back to the front, I glance over at the people in front.

They’re all ridiculously athletic looking, but I can tell some of them are tired. Maybe even more exhausted than I am. Looking past them, I can see the p.e teacher sat playing on his phone where we started.

A familiar feeling courses through me, reminding me of the times when I used to challenge other kids to races to see who was faster. I push my legs harder, making my steps larger and more powerful. I slip past the closest runner, who makes no effort to overtake me. Three more and I’ll be in front.

Again I speed up, trying to keep my breathing steady, in and out, in and out. I quickly pass the next two people, who run together with their legs almost perfectly in sync. Now I have only one person left to overtake. He’s tall and athletic looking, and for a few seconds I worry if I can actually push past him.

Ignoring my worries, I finally just let go and run. Pushing myself, I pump my arms and legs so fast I can actually feel the wind lifting my ponytail out behind me. The wind cools my face, and I ignore the pain in my chest. Concentrating on my feet, I see another pair of feet running along mine. Glancing up I see the other runners bemused expression. He wasn’t expecting me.

We look to the finish line almost simultaneously. It’s less than fifty metres away. I slow for just a millisecond – I can’t run that, I’m already almost about to collapse– but it’s enough for him to pull ahead. I’m not having that.

Forcing myself to run quicker, I hurry up to catch him. Three steps away, two steps. Out of nowhere I get a final spurt of energy, and then I’m running ahead of him, faster and faster.

I stumble across the finish line, collapsing onto the grass and gasping for fresh air. My legs feel like jelly, shaking so much I wonder if it’s just another form of my energy. Rubbing my hand against my stomach to rid myself of a stitch, I decide I have absolutely no energy left whatsoever.

“What’s your name again?” I open my eyes and see the p.e teacher looming over me, blocking out the sun.

“Jocelyn Embers,” I gasp, reaching for my water bottle. He checks his stopwatch, and then grins slightly.

“Well done kid. You coming next week? With some proper training…well, you’d be even better.” He says, marking something down on his clipboard.

I think about my aching legs and burning lungs. I’m about to shake my head, when I remember how it felt to cross that finish line ahead of everyone else.

“Sure.” I reply, wiping a few beads of sweat from my forehead. “Why not?”