Mary: The First Girl

14

And so, the days went on like that. Alby eventually decided that I should do exactly what Newt does for the first month, as I did pretty well in the fields. 

And while farming was relatively rewarding, being responsible for new growth and the survival of the glade, and working with my hands in the heat—this was uncomfortable, due to the sheer work required, but I recognized that is also helped me get into better shape. And slowly, as the days went on, I felt myself growing stronger. I began to rise before dawn to run  in the glade, varying my workout between sprinting and long distance endurance runs, followed my a series of push ups, sit ups, and planks, among other exercises. And for the first week or so, I would return to the room before Newt woke up. 

I found that I was by no means weak. On the contrary, I arrived to the glade strong and fierce. I simply forgot what strength I possessed within myself. Moreover, I told myself it was not necessarily physical, but rather mental. If I was mentally tougher than these boys, I could do anything. I would not let them bully me into servitude, on the claims of protection, like some damsel in distress. 

I am Mary. And I will become a force to be reckoned with— and they will not know what hit them.

And while I spent my time improving my physical fitness, and working, I also tried to get to know Newt. He continued to be sweet as ever, albeit different in public.  

And I watched the other jobs— I think medic would be interesting. Though, running also seems like a possibility. Look at me, talking about possibilities, as if I have them. 

I'll make them, though. 

 Anyways, I settled into my routine fairly quickly. I became a Track-Hoe, and spent most of my time working in the fields. Every morning, I woke up before the rest of the glade and ran the perimeter in about an hour. I varied the workout by day, alternating between sprints and long distance running. And on other days, I did sets of exercises behind the homestead: 100 pushups, 100 sit-ups, 100 pull-ups, and 100 squats.

I love mornings. The glade is silent, and it's just me. I can exist away from roaming eyes, and welcomed conversations.

I'll admit it: I would much rather sleep in than wake up at four am. But exposing myself to the harsh sunrise, and facing the consequences of sleep deprivation is worth the runner's high. I love running. The glade is suffocating, considering everything I do is under the watchful gaze of forty teenage boys. Most days, I feel like I can't breathe. It's only when I physically can't breathe that I ever feel alive. When I gasp for breath, my legs pumping and my heart beating out of my chest, I am alive. I can only breathe when I cannot breathe, for its only then that I realize the difference.

I don't know if that makes sense. Sometimes, I wonder if the runners experience the same thing in the maze— but I never ask. I haven't had the opportunity to ask if sprinting relieves their confusion and anger just as it does mine. It's not exactly the type of thing someone brings up in conversation, especially considering the way they act around me. I'm also not sure if I should let on the extent to which I'm going to ensure I can protect myself.

So, I work, and I run. And I patiently wait for the moment I can prove myself to be more than some shucking girl.