1896 Olympic Marathon. Public domain photo by Burton Holmes. (Via Flash! Friday)
We have been at war now for a while, you and I. Struggling silently; fighting for precedence. Have come at last to know each other intimately, one with each other, as you coax me towards your finish line, sweat browed and queasy. I will not rush to get there. I know how this race ends. Still, sleep shuts you out, sometimes – until I wake again to light. Once more round the track, perhaps?
Our exertions have pared me to planes and edges; a featherweight run ragged by the battle; not yet down and out for the count. Not beaten. Not yet, my corporeal competitor. Not yet – thought I lag behind a little, breath rattling. You are in front, back to me – a challenge in target. To reach. To move beyond. A marathon endurance without training enough to accomplish the feat, so it seems. I am no Olympiad, I know. Your path stretches out before me. Still. I crawl forwards.