The Running Dream

miles, I tell myself. Only four to go. One plus one plus one plus one.

It feels a little fuzzy in my head. Like I’ve got the wrong number of ones. Like I’m so fatigued that I can’t even count to four.

One plus one plus one plus one.

And somewhere in my fuzzy mind I make a connection—that’s how everything is done.

One by one by one by one.

That’s how I got through losing a leg.

Minute by minute by minute by minute.

Hour by hour by hour by hour.

Day by day by day by day.

That’s how anybody makes it through anything.

way down the ramp, Gavin whispers, “Can you really understand her? I could only catch a little of what she said.”

I nod. “It was hard at first, but now I’m pretty good at it. It’s like a dialect—it takes some getting used to, but you eventually figure it out.”

…” I follow his gaze to the wheelchair. “Hard to explain.”

He doesn’t press. “Okay … well, you want some company? I could run with you.”

“Uh … actually, I was getting ready to turn around. I usually do a loop, but I’m not going to make five miles pushing this thing. I’m already wiped out.”

“So I’ll run back with you.”

I turn the wheelchair around. “Don’t feel like you have to watch over the crazy girl pushing a load of potting soil. I’ll be fine.”

And then, out of the blue, he asks, “Do I bug you, or what?”

My head snaps to face him. “What are you talking about?”

“You always seem like you’re trying to get away from me.”

“I do?”

“Yeah. I’ll think that we’re having a good time and then you’ll practically ditch me.”

“Wow. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Then what?”