Racing to Race

Question

Carlo stopped to rest for a minute and tried to catch his breath. He’d been running for so long that he had pains in his side and his legs were beginning to hurt. He hunched over and tried to expand his lungs, but it was like trying to suck air out of a bicycle tire. His body was too exhausted to even allow him to take a deep breath, and he started to wheeze again.

“Great,” he thought, “let me just add asthma to my expanding list of ailments. I can’t believe that I can’t even jog two miles without completely collapsing!” He finally gave in to his aching body and laid down on the grass to recuperate. He closed his eyes and tried to imagine himself running on the school track in the 1,600-meter race. He pictured himself running steadily toward the finish line, running effortlessly like a cheetah in the jungle. He was so lost in thought that he didn’t even hear Meiya approach.

“Hey sleepyhead, what are you doing napping on Sean’s lawn in the middle of the day?” Meiya asked playfully.

Carlo quickly sat up, breathing normally now and feeling a little embarrassed. “I am trying to get in shape to try out for track, but I can’t even run two miles,” he said dejectedly.

“Wait, how many months are you out of surgery? Didn’t you just finish rehab last week?” Meiya asked. “You can’t expect to run two miles the first day.”

It had been six months since Carlo’s surgery and he specifically remembered the doctor telling him he could start running after six months. But he thought about what Meiya had said and realized she had a good point. After his surgery, the doctor did say rehab would be crucial to his recovery but that it would take time for him to gain back full use of his leg. He thought about how a baby had to learn to walk before it could run. He remembered when his nephew was learning to crawl; within days it seemed like he was walking. Running didn’t come right away, Carlo remembered. He realized it was the same with his therapy. The maximum he had run in the past month was one mile on the treadmill, so he realized that Meiya was probably right. He would have to work at building up his endurance and set more realistic goals for himself. As he thought about what he had already accomplished, he started to smile and felt like a weight was being lifted off his shoulders. He realized that he had run almost a mile and a half before his body started to protest and if he kept working hard, he could get back to where he was before his accident.

“Since when did you get so smart, Dr. Meiya?” he teased. “Do you want to race to the next mailbox?”

“You’re on!” she challenged and took off running at full speed.

Answer 1

Carlo jumped up, adrenaline pumping through his veins as he sprinted after her, determined to keep up. With each stride, he felt the lingering pain in his legs a little less, replaced by a rush of exhilaration that reminded him of why he had wanted to get back into running in the first place.

Meiya glanced back, a playful smirk on her face. “Come on, slowpoke! You can do better than that!” she called out, her laughter ringing in the air. Carlo felt a surge of motivation. Sure, he was tired, but the thrill of competition ignited something in him that made the exhaustion feel manageable.

The distance to the first mailbox was only about fifty yards away, but in that brief race, Carlo felt free again. He couldn’t ignore the reminders of his struggle, but for the moment, those feelings took a backseat to the thrill of racing his friend. He picked up his pace, feeling his lungs burn and his heart race. Each footfall seemed to bring him closer to his goal—not just of winning the race, but of reclaiming his strength.

As they neared the mailbox, Carlo could see that Meiya was slightly ahead. He pushed harder, willing his legs to move faster. He could hear the sound of her sneakers against the pavement, spurring him on.

“Almost there!” he shouted, the mailbox edging closer. They were neck and neck now. In a final surge of energy, Carlo leaned forward, his heart pounding as he crossed the imaginary finish line just a fraction of a second before Meiya.

He came to a halt, panting heavily, hands on his knees as he tried to catch his breath again. Meiya came to a stop beside him, her face flushed and smiling.

“Okay, maybe that was a little more than a jog,” she admitted, laughing lightly as her chest heaved from exertion. “Not bad for a so-called out-of-shape runner!”

Carlo grinned, feeling a rush of pride wash over him. “Not too shabby for a guy who couldn’t run two miles just a few weeks ago!” he replied, still catching his breath.

“Exactly! You proved to yourself that you can do this! Baby steps, remember?” Meiya encouraged, nudging him playfully.

He nodded, a new sense of confidence blossoming inside him. The ache in his legs felt different now—like the aftermath of hard work, not just pain. “Maybe next time we can try for the next mailbox and back?”

Meiya raised an eyebrow, her competitive spirit rekindled. “I’ll race you to the end of the block!”

“Deal!” Carlo said, a wide smile spreading across his face. This time, he didn’t feel the dread of defeat lurking behind him. He felt the thrill of the chase, ready to embrace the journey of recovery one sprint at a time.