Laura pounded away at the spongy astro-turf as she made her way around the inside of Lincoln High’s track. It’d been an hour. Maybe longer. She hadn’t brought her watch, but she’d counted about 50 times around the endless road. Maybe 48. Maybe 52. She lost count somewhere around 34, and had just guessed the number of her next lap. Either way, she had another 10 or so laps to go. It wasn’t a record she was trying to set, or a race to win. Not yet anyway. This was just training. It had been her fourth time running that week, and this was her long day. She thought it’d get easier by this point, it was her fifth week in training, after all. But it never really did. The acid build up started to eat away at her muscles somewhere around lap 40. Which she guessed was progress. When she stared it had only taken 20 laps for the pain to start. That was supposed to make it easier, but that wasn’t really the hard part, she’d learned. No. The hard part was the sheer boredom of it all. All the talk about the running high and even that only lasted ten or so laps. Now it was just a test of grit and determination to keep her legs moving, keep the muscles contracting and extending to make it to the 60th lap. One leg in front of the other. Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump. But damn was she tired. She hadn’t eaten enough that day either. A huge box of macaroni and cheese waited for her at home. She was gonna make the whole damn thing. Not the healthiest of meals for an athlete but she was more than making up for it right now. Shit. Was that one lap or two. Gotta go with one. Forty-nine laps down, eleven to go. Wait eleven? Wasn’t it 10 before? How was she losing laps? Oh yeah. She wasn’t. She was losing count. Ms. Elizabeth would be laughing at her. The star mathematician of the class, losing count. Oh shit, she hadn’t finished the weekend’s homework either.
The newest writing exercise for the creative mine! This one came from a bit of a personal place today, mainly I’m exhausted from writing term essays. What’s your exhaustion story?