Run, Run, Run

I wish I looked cool when I ran.  You would think because I have long legs I would be an awesome runner, but that’s just not how it goes. I have rusty ball bearings in my kneecaps and hips or something stupid like that. “Squeeek, squeak”, is the sound I imagine my legs would make if I was a cartoon character.  My friend Marcus has well maintained pistons. How he can run so fast when he smokes so much weed is something of a mystery to me.  After I smoke the last thing I want to do is move let alone run ten miles. I want to sit still. I want to sit so still like a chameleon camouflaging into the couch.  I want to watch the people move in crazy directions.  I want to watch the world pass by me like it has forgotten all about me.  I want his legs.

They’re what the girls go crazy for—sexy man legs.  Strong and powerful. Capable of going anywhere with great speed and swiftness.  They go straight ahead with fantastic precision. 

A fish flopped up on land, found a pair of legs lying in the dirt, strapped them to its tail and said to itself, “I think I’ll give this running thing a try”—that’s how I run.

I’m slow too. There’s just no meat on my bones and my older family members like to constantly remind me of this fact.  I have no muscle to move my bones. It’s like trying to move a ladder with toothpicks—it doesn’t work.  It’s more than a little embarrassing when you can’t fill out shorts so small you might as well not be wearing any.

I’m slower than all the cool hippie kids who smoke in the bushes between suicide runs. They are my friends.  Some of them are new friends but Marcus is friends with them all.  I’ve known him since I was two, so I’m in with them.  Me and one of my new hippie friends come up with a nickname for our team of overly ambitious underachievers (aka. the JV team).  We settled on “DRAGON-HAWKS” after throwing out “two-headed dragon bears”.  Marcus is on the varsity team.

Marcus taught me how to physically prepare before a race. Things I never thought were cool to do became cool. 

            “Pasta and butter?”

             “Yeah man, it gives you tons of energy.”

            “What are Nalgene bottles?”

            “They’re made of earth friendly plastic. No one uses those old sport-bike bottles from the 80s.” 

I think they moved on to Siggs? Or maybe they’re back to Nalgenes?  I don’t know. The one thing Marcus didn’t tell me how to do, was how to think just before a race.

I’m a nervous wreck while I wait for the race to start. Unlike Marcus, I really suck at running. I only joined the team because there were no try outs and I needed to sign up for a sport or take PE for another year. I’m in way over my head. At practice I can usually take my sweet time. But I can’t run like I do at practice during a race. I know the hell that I’m about to face. The hills, the heat, the other runners who will pass by like it’s nothing. To distract myself I try to remember a song and amp it up in my head to block out everything else. I’m not sure what Marcus does but I wish he would have told me.