GuyOnAWire

            One day in gym class my junior year, we were in the middle of the Presidential Fitness Challenge, and my worst enemy was next: The Mile. I was still very fat and could barely jog, let alone run. The gym instructor counted us off. “3… 2… 1… GO!”

            He clicked his stopwatch and readied his clipboard to clock each student as they passed the finish line. He really got into this sort of thing. I never understood it.

            I lurched forward; all my fat thudded downward by gravity with every other stride.        

Read more: Rough Patches

            That was why I hated running; I felt like a paint can shaker full of Jell-O.

            Still, I gave it my all, even passing some of the more athletic kids in the class. I rounded the first corner. This was easy.

            I’m going to set a record.

            Soon, I heaved, discovering a stich in my side. My booming steps slowed to a walk. The other athletically inclined students passed me by at their same stride.

            Oh, THAT’S why the others paced themselves.

            By the time I got to the far side of the track — hidden behind the dugout and away from our gym teacher’s judging eyes — I bent over and took a break. I turned and saw the beauty of the sunlight as it danced on the fall leaves blowing in the wind. I darted my head around to get the perfect shot of this for my mental scrapbook but as I stepped too close to the edge of the track, I slipped down the small hill face-first into a thorny bush.

            My skin was on fire. I bled out of every exposed inch.

            Time to assess the damage.

            I lifted my arms and sure enough, several cuts and scrapes covered the epidermis between my hairs. I was afraid to examine my legs but glanced back. I was on top of the bush. The only way out was through it. I crawled over nature’s barbed wire to the other side and rolled onto the dirt nearby.

            I got to my feet and noticed my legs, riddled with oozing rips into my flesh. I wiped my gym clothes clean but saw something wedged in the folds of my shorts. I plucked the odd item and observed it. A pinkish-red rose petal.

            My eyes slowly dragged up over the thorny shrub which was really a secret rose bush. The sun from this side illuminated the pinkish-red flowers and brought out a color no human had seen before. It was breathtaking. It was then that I realized that this was the best view. I took a mental picture, climbed around the bush, got back on track, and resumed the run.

            From the other side of the track, I saw the gym instructor jerking his head back and forth trying to get a good look at me.

            I must have been down there a while.

            As I turned the last corner and revealed myself with scars on my face, arms, and legs, the gym teacher’s eyes widened.

            “Oh my God, what happened?!”

            The other students’ reactions were a mixed bag of concern and ridicule. People held their mouths to stifle their laughter. Others to withhold the shock of my bloody appearance.

            “You guys, there is such a beautiful rose bush back behind the dugout box! And if you get on the other side of it, there’s this heavenly view!”

            The gym teacher’s face squinted.

            “So what? Let’s get you checked out at the nurse’s office.”

            All they could see were my scars even when I told them about how beautiful life was through the rough patch.

            I may have taken longer than most to finish that mile, but I was still on track. I turned back to the beauty that distracted me for so long, only to realize that it was my daydreaming that fueled the will to go on.

Without it, I’da gotten off the track years ago.

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This was an epilogue for my upcoming cancer memoir that didn’t really fit the story nor did it feel right tacked on at the end. I hope you enjoyed it.