I watched as Mya passed me by to the finish line and wondered how she did it so effortlessly. This was unlike anything I'd done in a long while and it had kicked my butt.
My heart beating, I was in no hurry to catch up.
I glimpsed down at the smeared ink on my hand.
I recounted the lengthwise crisscross lines not tallying the smear. Two fairly spaced-out blue marks deliberately put there by Ms. Pratt; a tough strictly speaking athletics educator who was not big on the craft and technique of illustrating cohesive straight lines.
The numbers were jot down as a record to keep check of the total so that once the number got up to five Ms. Pratt would then replay our individual stats and time performance history. I snickered. Yeah, OK. No performance angst Here, Anybody.
I wasn't in great shape and my body was suffering because of it. Too bad nothing stuck with me long enough to get lasting results. I didn't act like it but I was still a girl that wouldn't mind a pair of killer toned legs.
I lived a sedentary lifestyle and was conditioned from a young age to have healthy eating habits thanks to those classes they offered during the summertime. Instead of bringing me with her like all parents did to their kids, my mom dropped me off at the local Recreational Center. Guess it was easier to answer phones at the Parish when I was learning about the difference between vegetables but I'm not complaining because I'd learned how to make smoothies out of them.
Nutrition and Wellness had a seminar about portion awareness and if I compared protein to the size of a deck of cards then I had the right amount. Likewise, if I'd used the middle portion at the base of my palm below the base of my middle finger I could determine the estimation of approximately anything from cooked vegetables to roasted honey nut peanuts, then I didn't have to wield the measuring scale to round off numbers.
Sauces, beverages, condiments had calories, too, everybody so use those sparingly. What I'd never told the instructor was that I had a carnivorous sweet tooth like all the women in the Striker household and so guilty conscience won over each time and I would cut back the next few days until the cravings were just too overpowering.
Posture upright I pushed the track behind me and made sure that my foot landed underneath my knee so that it supported my body and helped me maintain forward momentum. Keeping a nice relaxed hand I ran.
As I went, the tug of war waged on. My lungs, now flammable, ignited into a class k combustion and it didn't take much for both of my legs to grow into heavy marshland stumps. I shed a tear silently. My heart hurt and the obvious you're new observations that didn't take long to reach the halls of Starkhouse wasn't helping. Classmates had stared at me and wondered what my deal was. I didn't have clothes like them and I certainly didn't try to make friends.
I pushed away my personal agitations but after a short span of breath that turn-my-brain-off and disappear because I was about to get burned impression never came.
Where was Chanel and how come I hadn't seen her for the past few days? What was I doing here, I didn't belong in Starkhouse and everyone knew it, so why did the Headmistress come and find me? And again it went. Why did my grandma, who had nothing but good things to say about Starkhouse, insist that I was at the right place when I was so off balance and out of my comfort zone.
These were not my people and it showed. Everytime I had thought I was adjusting I saw handbags in Chanel, Prada, Armani, and Marc Jacobs that reminded me that I was in a different alternative reality. The questions build to the point of no return so I let my frustration out on the court, dog-tired legs not halting for a break, limp broken-down feet hitting the gleaming linoleum with each movement foreward.
My ponytail fell down between my shoulder blades but I didn't fix it. I kept plugged in.
While the shaky unstable reins bumped off by mistake I ran. Suddenly that familiar ache in my belly was back again. So what if I was fatigued and sluggish. I harnessed all the resentment that I had suppressed at everybody that seemed to know more than I did, letting it flow until I was vacuum-packed frozen. Solid as a rock.
I couldn't think of any place worse than crying in the gymnasium. God, what was happening to me.
These days I was like one of those dolphin water fountains, the trigger circuit giving rise to jetting water for dramatic effect.
This wasn't me. I wasn't this person. I didn't cry.
Then that familiar repulsive voice snickered: Do you think you're mom is crying about you? It asked me.
I didn't say anything.
Of course not. That same loathsome voice answered for me. Toughen up and get a grip before somebody else sees you!
Now...Silence. I couldn't hear the obnoxious hideous voice yelling at me anymore.
I was done with hospitals and even more tired of Dr. Cambridge. They would give me "voluntary" standardized questionnaires that weren't so voluntary. I just wanted my life back, what was left of it anyway.
The Doc was nice and had offered me trail mix, the kind that people actually ate with the candy chocolate pieces inside, and so I would eat that during our sessions but there were only so many appointments that I could take.
I knew what I saw I wasn't crazy. But when my mom admitted me to the hospital and because I'd lived under her roof at the time, I couldn't say no. At least grandma had my back, not much good that did since those two never got along. I couldn't remember a single photobook worthy commemoration when they had to be in the same room together. Probably when grandpa died.
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