I stopped at 7.65 kilometer, which was not my gig. I am a 10-21k runner. It was damn scary too.
Ever since 2k, I had always felt the blisters growing between my big and index toes, both left and right. Thought it’s something I can tolerate until I get to my running goal, which was 10k. I am never the complainer too. I love the sun, I can handle kids and creepy drunken men mimicking me on the street, and I know how to manage the dog aggression.
When I got to the 5th kilometer, I was satisfied so I pivoted there at the school. Anyway, I changed my route because the one I used to run in had became all-too familiar. Maybe I felt satisfied because my feet were already burning. It’s 5 kilometer away from home. Can’t fuck it up.
Dusk was setting in so I had two options: 1.) Run-cry fast on the second half of my route and get home as fast as possible, or 2.) Run slow. Screw it; option 1 is fatal, so I settled slowing my pace.
Dave Matthews Band kept me company, but they weren’t enough because in every step against the concrete, the blisters would crash. Funny though since Crash into me played on, the asphalt singing, “Crasssssshhhhh, into me, and I come into you, baby.” No sexual innuendo intended.
It was unbearable, my being far yet, the faint light from the moon, and the emptiness of the road. Most of all, my feet. I decided to walk slowly. Actually, walking was just as painful as running.
I attempted to avoid the collision of the blisters and the concrete, so I stepped in tips of my toes falling flat with my heel. I was more comfortable, but was I going to do this for four kilometers?
I’m at a quasi-countryside, so if you were thinking I should have asked for any help, it was not possible at that time. I saw no house nearby, and my phone hadn’t caught any signal. I started to panic.
My vision was bleary, plus evening was on full-swing. I wasn’t walking; I was actually staggering, much to the surprise of the dogs barking at my direction. Headlights pointed at me, some honked their horns. I needed to do something, so what I can only do was stare at my phone and beg please please please please please.
Finally there’s a streetlight and a house and a small store of repacked gasoline. Near it was a stump. I sat down and got my phone again, and finally I can text. Texted Dad for rescue, told him my location and the nearest landmark/s and asked for water.
I took off my shoes and socks, and the house owner saw me sitting there. He went back to his house. He might have surmised what’s going on.
Dad called, yelling, maybe because he’s not used to this situation. He asked me where I was, and hanged up. He called again to ask where I was, if I was sure where I was, because he’s turning into my direction, because I’m often on the other side. Still the same tone.
He arrived, and unlocked the car door. I was at the backseat, and his tough love started. He snapped about my being recklessness on evenings, and I grunted, adjusting my seat. I kind of passed out, but I heard him saying hit-and-run three times. He gave me water, and I remembered we went home fast, that he pounded the horns, that we struggled to enter the garage.
September 8, 2019, 6 pm
Kloyde A. Caday 