I’m panting, breathless. My legs hurt from this race that will never end. I hopped into your lane at some point; when was that? But you’re too far ahead to see. I’m sure you lapped me when I wasn’t looking. Maybe when I was crying about my failures. Maybe when I was napping in a ball on the floor. Maybe when I was cursing you so violently, eyes scrunched up and hands balled into fists.
But you lapped me. You left me behind.
When did my body get so heavy? Feet thudding against the padded athletics track. Shoulders sagging, tense and tight. Arms barely moving now. I’m weighed down by expectations, societal pressures, obligations, fears, oh the fears!, and all the rest.
And there’s a crick in my neck from looking over into the other lanes. Sometimes, we’ve been neck and neck! I’ve sped up. Pushed my legs to do the impossible so I can pass them. Yes, look at me! I’ve done it. I’ve surpassed that stranger. I’m winning against them. Look at me!
My heart races. My chest burns. My throat aches. Wheezing sounds from my nose. Again, the heaviness sets in, asking why I pushed that last bit because now I’m even more fatigued. I can’t race much longer.
Then there they are, back to take their lead, surpassing me with ease because I’m too weak to close the gap. They don’t even look my way, just keep their steady pace, eyes dead ahead. Rude! Their figure is lost in the distance ahead of me, swallowed by sunlight.
How could I let this happen? I think I’ve started to crawl now. Hands and knees blistered and bleeding. Head sagging down. I’ve become the tortoise. Slow, heavy, hard. But in the story, yes, in the story the tortoise wins! He beats the hare. Yes, that’ll be me. I’ll beat them all in the end, just you watch –
But I look down and I realise, oh what a fool I’ve been. There is no athletics track beneath my feet. Nor a road or astroturfing.
I’m on a treadmill, going nowhere. All alone. Yes, that’s right, I’m all alone.
Sincerely,
S. xx
S. R. Crawford 