Peanut Butter Running

The gun goes off and a surge of adrenaline goes running through my spine; it makes the legs quiver, arms and hands antsy, and the nerves jump at the slightest touch, sound, or sight. 

I feel my legs pushing and my arms inching forward as I watch in disappointment my competitors running past me. Catch up! Catch up! I tell myself, but for the first time, my mind and body feel like separate entities, no longer collaborating together. Five minutes in and my breathing becomes deep and raspy. Why can't I breathe? Where has Endurance gone? I panic. I search the area around the track-- the bleachers, the in-field, the starting line-- in hopes that no one is watching. The burning sensation of blush bloom all over my face. Effortlessly, other runners glide across the track taking quick glances at me with their eyes saying, "You're not going to make it." I begin to lose hope as I reach my all time lowest moment; a mere jog, in which for me still feels like running, but to the spectator it is a quick step or walk. I tell myself, I must be strong, I will make it to the finish, and for that moment as I think this, I imagine myself as strong as Frank Shorter or Roger Bannister-- gliding gracefully, if not flying. To the observer though, I am only inching towards the finish line in the way a caterpillar scrunches its body up and then uncoils itself only to move a centimeter or two. But I can't see myself that way and therefore I have no self-pity-- but I have the pity of others, which to me, I am not sure what's more humiliating.

Finally, I look down and realize my feet are mudding through thick, creamy peanut butter. I left my right leg with so much force and effort only to raise my knee just a few inches; barely enough to take a leap. I lift my left leg and attempt to get farther, but Fatigue has arrived. I feel the lactate acid building up in my entire lower body, slowly making its way upward to my abs, arms, and shoulders. I'm going nowhere. It is often thought that the mind can override the body in extreme situations, and for this brief moment I thought I had that ability. I tried to find something in me that would go against the odds and lift me out of the gooey mess that was slowing me down. I panic when I can't find it in me and I begin to give up. 

I was going nowhere. There's disappointment in my eyes and a heaviness in my
 heart that won't go away. I hear the spectators judging me with grimace across their faces. I don't want to look or show my face because defeat has won me over. I give up.

Then, my alarm goes off... It's 6:30 in the morning.