Wednesday Writers #1

I am still working the name out, but I would like to start showcasing some writing. From everyone. Some that I've done, some you've done, anything! And I know it is Thursday, but I didn't get it posted. Woop! This is something I've been working on lately. It is incomplete, but maybe you all can help! 

Enjoy. All critique is welcome!!!

WEDNESDAY

This morning was like any of her other mornings, but so different from your own. The garble came from just outside her bedroom door. Some mornings the hesitant thought of keeping her eyes shut for just five more minutes was all too appealing, but the blaring bolt from across the room brushed those aside like the Cheyenne winds sweeping the early fall reds, oranges and crispy yellows across the hills in late September.

Left, then a begrudging right hit the floor. She had mastered pouring coffee in the dark so as not to wake her roommate, who always had a knack of leaving her door open down the hallway. The trick was to use your other senses- right hand to pour while your left thumb was knuckle deep to trace the line, gauging the distance from brim to coffee, leaving you will a beautifully full mug.

Taking it straight just like her whisky, she plodded back to her room. Like other Wednesdays, really any day, she let her eyes adjust to the light of her desk lamp before turning on the others. However unlike her other mornings, deep thoughts began striding through her barely woken brain. Gearing up for what would seem a difficult race. None menacing or dangerous, but ones in which a hope and a sadness rose within her heart.

At rest, her heart beat no more than 39 per minute, scaring her once boyfriend into waking her mid dream to ensure her existence in reality was palpable. So strong, those beats ha been known to shake the bed on many an afternoon nap or weekend getaway. So deep and quiet and yet in a fully, hollow way, her breaths had barely moved her body in rest. Deathlike in her fitness.

But in work and awake, boy could she move.

Her heart was strong, but like any heart the strength bore a fragility, the surface too deep to know her reality. She was not false with anyone, only protective of the scars which had callused and regrown with time and patience; only known to her and maybe those who had caused them.

On this day, the thought running through her slowly caffeinated mind, tore slightly at those scars and played with her ever lacking confidence.

“Who else is doing exactly this?”

Certainly not her roommate who would awaken several hours into this woman’s detailed day. The roommate had only just gotten back in from a night of Tuesday Trivia.

The ones awake at this hour were not just the dedicated or the late night/ early morning party animals. No, they were the crazies, the dreamers, the doers, the movers and the shakers. They were fighting for their beliefs, their dreams, one morning at a time.

Some had these mornings easier than others. Natural ability and talent had been gifted to them, not always requiring the miles and extras of those with somewhat less ability. Their God given grace floated and carried naturally in their stride. Whereas this woman had spent hours, days, weeks, months, years in perfecting the effortless speed of the float and kick.

Today her sweat logged laces left the grease on her fingers and she left it there, another reminder known to few of the extremities of the miles and the heart that had been given and so easily taken by those trails, roads and rubber.

Still not yet springtime, the air was damp and icy, causing breath to condensate and blow whispy clouds above her head, quick and puffy at first, but within a mile or two, they began to become more uniform, slower in rising and rhythmically through her as she cantered down the darkened city streets. Light was just coming more quickly each day that passed, but only would she the full beacon of sun, nearly halfway through this morning’s run.

As a youth, routines had accrued which in turn just became habit. Her workouts shifted depending on the plan, but most plans had similar themes. Wednesdays had become a rest day of sorts. Over the years, mileage had gained but the goal of the day remained the same: relaxed, beautiful miles.

            AM: 45-60 minutes- No watch.

            PM: 45-60 minutes- No faster than 7:3 pace.

With no watch it became a guessing game, but over time her boy had adapted and learned to know length and pace-her own internal stopwatch.

She picked a favored route, a light dusting of snow, a sleepy reminder of the chill of night, would not slow her any. But she assuredly soaked in the quiet crunch of grasping snowflakes beneath her rubber soles.

The miles had worn the outsoles slicker than when new, but there were still routes to be run. There was a bit more left. There always was.

Many lights still not awaked, her foot falls the only sound on the slumbering south side of town.

As she neared the main street, one or two motors were heard in the distance. Those who hit the job early. Or on their way to class for just a few more minutes of study.

Turning right to head up the hill, the streetlight flickered above her. Maybe it sensed it too early to try anything overly active, only testing the waters.

 TBC.