Push For Greatness

As she ran forward, all she could focus on was the cold. How it was going to grab hold of her ankles, reach up through her muscles and steal the air from her lungs, pull all of her energy out through her legs.

She had practiced for this the entire summer. Early mornings, when the dew was still fresh on the grass, followed by laps back and forth along the coastline. Lunch squeezed into the middle of the day, after the time spent in the water and before she got onto a bicycle, riding until the sun just began to fall from the sky, at which point she'd dismount and continue on foot, throughout the neighborhood until it was hidden below the horizon, when the crickets began to chirp - guiding her back to her driveway. This routine went on for weeks. Each leg slowly got bigger. She'd add a few more laps, a couple extra miles, maybe a hill or two towards the end. She had to keep pushing herself. Preparing for the race.

When she got home her body was sore and she was well aware. Her muscles ached, her lower back was stiff - thighs like jello. After a long, steamy shower she'd spread out on the floor and stretch, massaging the life back into her muscles, applying icy hot in the really knotted places. The smell of menthol filling her room.

By the time she made it downstairs, her mother would have dinner prepared. The usual fair for the rest of the family, meatloaf, pot roast, macaroni and cheese. But for her, there'd be something special. Not because she had asked for it, but because her mother knew how serious she was taking training and wanted to provide her body what it needed. Some hearty protein - chicken or fish, accompanied by hearty vegetables - broccoli, spinach, and some carbohydrates - usually assorted pastas. She always felt special when her mother placed her plate down, but also a little guilty. Her mom didn't need to go out of her way - but she had always insisted - saying she was proud of her daughter's drive.

Once dinner was done, she'd make her way over to the sink and clean up everything - her way of saying "thank you" to her mother. She had done all the hard work, preparing the food - the least she could do was take care of the mess. When everything was clean and her hands were covered in suds and pruned, she'd make her way into the living room, collapsing on the couch wherever there was space. She never cared what was on the television. Just the company around her and the cozy feeling of being home during the summer made her happy - the humid air, bugs humming outside, bouncing off the screen door - it all brought a smile to her face. Most nights, as much as she tried, she'd begin nodding off by the end of the first show. Before she actually fell asleep she'd pry herself from the cushions, hug and kiss her family members, and drag herself upstairs, falling into bed, ready to welcome the sleep that was about to embrace her.

And on this went the entire summer. Day after day. Morning after morning.

When the water finally made contact with her skin, she heard herself gasp. She could feel the cold begin to make its way up her leg, but she fought back against it - pushing the pins and needles, the pain, out of her mind. She had to keep going - had to finish the race.

After all, this was the year she was going to beat her brother.