metaphor
interviewing repeatedly, revising her resume, getting along with her new husband, dragging the trashbins out to the curb and back to their places.
finishing an online degree in finance. grocery-shopping. making home-made christmas cards this year. each day was a just day fading into another*.
christopher supported her; he said he did. paid the rent while she wasnt working. brought her tylenol for a headache. quizzed her with flashcards before they turned the light off at 10, feeling just a little older than they were.
but when tessa ran, she felt a little bit better than all of that. stronger, even when her body ached in the mornings and she winced to go down a staircase. more alert or alive, even after 12 miles in 20-degree cold with wind.
the training was her secret. christopher knew that she went to the gym 5 days a week, yes, but he didnt know why. he never asked. this one thing was hers. a 26-week program. proven to work, the internet told her. a thousand success stories. training guide for free in the mail. anyone could do it-- millions already had, so why couldn't she? she'd never been an athlete, true, but she was always thin. that had to count for something. in grade school her dad had said, flat out, that he knew she'd never be a soccer star or a basketball genius. he was the coach, so he would know. it made her sad to hear this, but not half as sad as it made him to say it. "you could do track, though," he'd said. "your legs are long and fast. track or swimming. stick to those, tess," he'd said.
but this was her secret. afraid to fail, she hadn't told anyone. afraid to sound too naive or eager, too excited for her age-- 28 years old. too reckless, maybe. she didn't even have a job yet, why was she wasting several hours a day just running around? maybe it wasnt responsible, but christopher supported them both, not always begrudgingly, as she plodded through school online, and interviewed several times a week for jobs that never called back. she was qualified, there just weren't jobs enough.
that day in march, she felt fantastic. that day she was running inside on the track at the Y. there were other people there, and she was imagining the scenes of the real race in her mind as she ran. she tried to decide what her t-shirt would say, what songs she'd put on her final playlist. she ran with a smile on her face, breathing easily in mile 5 of 8. last week she ran 15 on sunday. the marathon would happen exactly 3 weeks from then. tessa would tell christopher and her family about it just days before, when she was sure she could succeed. when there was no chance left of having to take it all back. they'd be proud. they'd say, "how could we not have known!". then drive out and stand along the course and cheer.
jogging around the bend by the clock, tessa lifted her head to check her time, 6:44, and that was when she fell. a snap near the bottom of her right foot, the landing of her left foot on the track, and then her body collapsing to the right, down to the floor, and rolling slightly forward with momentum. pain shot up her foot, ankle, calf, stopping at the knee. her eyes watered and she couldn't catch her breath. she was quiet, but grabbed her foot with her hand and pulled her sneaker off, the colors of the Y swirling in her eyes. aware of the other runners coming behind, tessa scooted her body over to the far wall and leaned against it, tilting her head back. it was week 23 of the training, and all of her runs from the past 6 months ran through her head. all the people she'd passed, trying on different running shoes, blisters, the road routes by stores and restaurants, freezing days, hot days, locker rooms and their communal showers, the crush she had on one of the other women who ran at the Y and how she'd once asked that woman to help unclasp her necklace in the back.
she sat against the wall in silence. the pain turned into numbness but she felt defeated. she put on the news radio station on her discman and listened, and then after almost an hour she got up. holding on to the wall she tried to run a few steps, hopefully, wishfully, but couldn't. running had been perfectly hers. 23 weeks healthy, getting faster, going further every time. her confidence was there, at the track, if it was not at home or in the interviews. she could have finished the marathon, no doubt in her mind. but now she knew, 3 weeks was no time at all. no time to recover from this.
she walked down to the locker room slowly, hiding the limp with the help of the wall. put on her straight black pants, light striped button-down, blazer. even slid both feet painfully into the heels, deciding she could probably get home in them before the swelling really kicked in. she grabbed her bag and walked out of the building. tessa felt the last 2 dollars of her own money, soft in her pocket. she walked slowly to the cafe on the corner and bought the last jelly donut in the case.
she didnt even like jelly donuts, but she sat at the table in the window, her headphones on with the news up loud, not caring what it tasted like or if others saw her. not caring if jelly stuck on her lip and wasnt wiped away instantly, or dough flakes snowed onto her sharp black blazer.
when she got home later she said to christopher, "i cant run for a while." Sitting next to her at their kitchenette table, he could touch her but not really look at her.
"you're overreacting," he said through his pizza.
"im not," tessa said.
"im sure you'll feel better in a few weeks. you'll go right back to your workouts," he said through his coke. "plus we'll go watch the marathon next month, and that always gets you excited about exercise."
"yeah," she said, and got a cold bag of corn from the freezer.
*crows', not mine
finishing an online degree in finance. grocery-shopping. making home-made christmas cards this year. each day was a just day fading into another*.
christopher supported her; he said he did. paid the rent while she wasnt working. brought her tylenol for a headache. quizzed her with flashcards before they turned the light off at 10, feeling just a little older than they were.
but when tessa ran, she felt a little bit better than all of that. stronger, even when her body ached in the mornings and she winced to go down a staircase. more alert or alive, even after 12 miles in 20-degree cold with wind.
the training was her secret. christopher knew that she went to the gym 5 days a week, yes, but he didnt know why. he never asked. this one thing was hers. a 26-week program. proven to work, the internet told her. a thousand success stories. training guide for free in the mail. anyone could do it-- millions already had, so why couldn't she? she'd never been an athlete, true, but she was always thin. that had to count for something. in grade school her dad had said, flat out, that he knew she'd never be a soccer star or a basketball genius. he was the coach, so he would know. it made her sad to hear this, but not half as sad as it made him to say it. "you could do track, though," he'd said. "your legs are long and fast. track or swimming. stick to those, tess," he'd said.
but this was her secret. afraid to fail, she hadn't told anyone. afraid to sound too naive or eager, too excited for her age-- 28 years old. too reckless, maybe. she didn't even have a job yet, why was she wasting several hours a day just running around? maybe it wasnt responsible, but christopher supported them both, not always begrudgingly, as she plodded through school online, and interviewed several times a week for jobs that never called back. she was qualified, there just weren't jobs enough.
that day in march, she felt fantastic. that day she was running inside on the track at the Y. there were other people there, and she was imagining the scenes of the real race in her mind as she ran. she tried to decide what her t-shirt would say, what songs she'd put on her final playlist. she ran with a smile on her face, breathing easily in mile 5 of 8. last week she ran 15 on sunday. the marathon would happen exactly 3 weeks from then. tessa would tell christopher and her family about it just days before, when she was sure she could succeed. when there was no chance left of having to take it all back. they'd be proud. they'd say, "how could we not have known!". then drive out and stand along the course and cheer.
jogging around the bend by the clock, tessa lifted her head to check her time, 6:44, and that was when she fell. a snap near the bottom of her right foot, the landing of her left foot on the track, and then her body collapsing to the right, down to the floor, and rolling slightly forward with momentum. pain shot up her foot, ankle, calf, stopping at the knee. her eyes watered and she couldn't catch her breath. she was quiet, but grabbed her foot with her hand and pulled her sneaker off, the colors of the Y swirling in her eyes. aware of the other runners coming behind, tessa scooted her body over to the far wall and leaned against it, tilting her head back. it was week 23 of the training, and all of her runs from the past 6 months ran through her head. all the people she'd passed, trying on different running shoes, blisters, the road routes by stores and restaurants, freezing days, hot days, locker rooms and their communal showers, the crush she had on one of the other women who ran at the Y and how she'd once asked that woman to help unclasp her necklace in the back.
she sat against the wall in silence. the pain turned into numbness but she felt defeated. she put on the news radio station on her discman and listened, and then after almost an hour she got up. holding on to the wall she tried to run a few steps, hopefully, wishfully, but couldn't. running had been perfectly hers. 23 weeks healthy, getting faster, going further every time. her confidence was there, at the track, if it was not at home or in the interviews. she could have finished the marathon, no doubt in her mind. but now she knew, 3 weeks was no time at all. no time to recover from this.
she walked down to the locker room slowly, hiding the limp with the help of the wall. put on her straight black pants, light striped button-down, blazer. even slid both feet painfully into the heels, deciding she could probably get home in them before the swelling really kicked in. she grabbed her bag and walked out of the building. tessa felt the last 2 dollars of her own money, soft in her pocket. she walked slowly to the cafe on the corner and bought the last jelly donut in the case.
she didnt even like jelly donuts, but she sat at the table in the window, her headphones on with the news up loud, not caring what it tasted like or if others saw her. not caring if jelly stuck on her lip and wasnt wiped away instantly, or dough flakes snowed onto her sharp black blazer.
when she got home later she said to christopher, "i cant run for a while." Sitting next to her at their kitchenette table, he could touch her but not really look at her.
"you're overreacting," he said through his pizza.
"im not," tessa said.
"im sure you'll feel better in a few weeks. you'll go right back to your workouts," he said through his coke. "plus we'll go watch the marathon next month, and that always gets you excited about exercise."
"yeah," she said, and got a cold bag of corn from the freezer.
*crows', not mine