Skinny Boy ✔

Chapter 40: The Battle of Marathon, pt. 1

All I could do was run. I couldn't help but run. I didn't look back, I only looked where I was headed. For me, there was nowhere else to go but the imagined finish line.

Of course, there was no actual finish line, no set course for me to run along, but there was google maps on my phone to give me an estimation of where to go. So, out past an isolated gas station was where I claimed my destination, and that's where I headed.

The first few miles went from exhausted limbs and tired eyes, to blood pumping through my veins with ease. Once the endorphins came out to play, it was all up from there.

It wasn't summer, so the heat wasn't bad, but the humidity was submerging into town. As I ran along the road, I squinted at the sunshine covered by the scattered clouds. About five miles in, far off in the distance, I spotted storm clouds rolled around the sky, giving off a dusky feel to the morning light.

As I neared the end of town, I grew less and less concerned with what others thought. The Farther I got from people, the farther I got from my worries, and the farther I got from my worries, the more it felt like every problem in my life was nonexistent.

A breeze came my way, and I welcomed it with (literal) open arms, leaning into it. I savored this feeling, the feeling of warm winds drying my sticky sweat. It was one of the things I'd forever associate with freedom. Freedom from worry, freedom from judgment, freedom from insecurities. That's what freedom feels like.

I've heard freedom, and it sounds like air blowing past your ears, water clugging in a water bottle, a heart beating in your throat, and cars driving in the distance. It sounds like no more negative thoughts, but motivating chants.

I've smelled freedom, and it smells like sweat, passing car exhausts, and the distant rain.

I've had a tasted freedom, and it tastes like warm water, like the last sip from a bottle with miles lying ahead of you. It tastes like a sticky, dry mouth.

I've seen freedom, and it looks like beautiful, awe-filled, blurry scenery, observed through tired eyes and the pressure of an oncoming headache. It looks like a gas station off in the distance.

As I neared the gas station that served as my distance marker, I contemplated whether or not I should go in there and see if I could refill my water.

No, I told myself. I can get it on the way back. I'm almost there. Just a few more miles.

I kept telling myself that, yelling it in my mind as I watched the building shrink behind me.

Just a few more miles. I'm almost there.

Somewhere along the way, the idea of giving up seemed more tempting than ever before.

I can just turn back. Maybe the distance from here to the gas station will make up for the rest of the miles. I can even run until I'm back in town, just for safe measures. That should be a marathon in total.

I shook my head. No. It doesn't count if I stop. If I stop at all, I'm giving up. I can't stop.

I can't stop.

I can't stop.

I had no idea where I was, though, so I had no way to know when to stop. The whole plan made sense in my mind, I would use a marker point, and then go until my gut told me to stop.

Problem was, my gut wasn't a reliable source. How do I know this? Because my gut was too busy trying to keep food down to give me navigation.

In the end, it failed to do either of those. So I not only had no clue as to how far I'd gone since the gas station, but I was also hunched over on the side of the road, vomiting my brains out.