Birth of the Treadmill

Go, the green button says. Go go go. He grumbles and rolls his eyes. He begins to run and sweat, eyes dilating and opening to catch the light. The incline begins and he hikes, feeling his calves clench and his a*s perspire and he ponders, “Why am I man?” He glances back but sees nothing but the others feeling his pain as well. But their faces, he realizes, are passive stones, staring into oblivion. They see only the end, not the journey. He stares ahead once more, continuing his hike. His feet accelerate and he dreads the tightness in his muscles that scream stop stop stop. He fears the weakness spreading through him: cancerous and vast. Two girls gossip beside him: “Emily is going to prom with Caleb? He was supposed to ask Sara! What bullshit.” 

He whispers his mantra, trying to focus: run run run I am I am I am. His breathing turns deep, begging for a cough, but he chokes it down, refusing to accept. He believes that, to do anything, the mind decides the ability, not the body. Every few steps, he contemplates a marker and chooses it to stop, but he feels stronger at each milestone. His heartbeat pulses in every muscle and makes him realize the truth of living: breathe breathe breathe. 

He confronts weakness and defeats it. He waits. The familiar surge rushes through him and he is sprinting. He ignores the chatter and the cries to stop; he ignores his body’s repugnance towards strength. He only feels his legs kicking, kicking, flying. 

So it goes: He is reborn again.