Dead Running by Cami Checketts

phrase the song was drowning out, I’m not going to make it. I’m not going to make it.
    I tripped on a root that flung itself out of the ground at me. Slamming onto the rocky trail, I had a brief respite from motion. I caught my breath. The ache in my side eased. My head cleared. Oxygen is a wonderful thing .
    Damon was instantly by my side. He grabbed my elbow and helped me stand. Joe and Trevor either didn’t notice I’d fallen or didn’t care, they kept up their excruciating pace.
    I shook Damon off with a muttered, “Thanks,” and did the last thing on earth that I ever wanted to do, forced my legs into action.
    “Cassie,” Damon said. “You just fell. Why don’t you take a break? I really don’t care if we take it slow.”
    “I care.”
    “Are you sure you’re all right?”
    “Marvelous.”
    “You didn’t injure anything?”
    “Shut-up,” I said. Or I’m going to injure you , I would’ve added if it didn’t hurt so much to talk.
    Damon didn’t say anything else, but he stayed within inches of my backside, obviously preparing himself for my next crash.
    I wanted to curl up in fetal position and have someone place chocolate on my tongue. I ran instead. My calves screamed in agony. I couldn’t catch a full breath. My stomach churned, preparing itself to spew. My head felt like it was going to explode from the lack of oxygen.
    I hate running.
    How could I have forgotten how miserable running was? Through all the agony my poor body and mind endured, I kept plodding along. Actually, it felt like racing not plodding. I wondered what kind of a fool I was to think I could keep up with Damon and his friends. A part of me was extremely grateful for Damon’s kindness. Another part wanted to scream at him that he should’ve told me we were running fourteen miles uphill. He was probably just being nice because of the load of guilt he shouldered.
    I glanced away from Joe’s rotating legs and checked my surroundings. Still lots of trees, rocks, and canyon walls closing in on us, but nothing signaling that we were nearing the end of the trail. I prayed, Please let me make it to the top without puking or passing out and I’ll read The Bible more than I read Prevention Magazine . I figured a little bribery wouldn’t hurt my prayer.
    I kept going, one foot in front of the other, the ache remained in my legs but also lodged in my knees, hips, and gut. The only good thing about this run was for the first time in almost two weeks I didn’t have the energy to worry about anything but putting one foot in front of the other.
    The worst thing about this run was Damon saw me at the sorriest I’ve been in a long time. How awful did I look? Damon didn’t say anything. The man stayed close behind me in a silent show of support. I decided if I lived through this I could really like the guy. I might have to apologize for telling him to shut-up.
    “Bout a half-mile more to the turn around,” Joe called over his shoulder.
    Half a mile. I could do that. I could make it. I didn’t know how I was going to crawl back to my car, but that was a worry for another minute. Right now I had to focus on getting my legs to the apex of this blasted hill. Maybe my torturers would actually pause and let me catch a full breath before they kicked my buns again. I did not like Damon’s friends.
    It was the longest half-mile in recorded history. I thought I would see the finish line around the next bend in the trail, behind the next overgrown tree, over the next rock-covered rise. Half an hour must have passed before we cruised off the trail and onto a rutted road framed with poplar trees. A rusty gate stood a hundred yards away.
    “Sprint to the gate,” Trevor called out.
    Sprint to the . . .what? Were they masochists? Trevor and Joe took off like the Batmobile. Damon stayed by my side. One glance at his concerned face and my pride kicked in triple time. I lifted my legs, pumped my arms, and flew over potholes and hard-packed dirt. I