Two Thousand Words or Bust
I remember reading
(a long time ago when I did such a thing) in Stephen King's
autobiography that, according to him, if you want to write (which I
think I do), you should make it a point to write at least two thousand
words a day. Ideally, sticking with one story until it's finished. It
doesn't matter if you're feeling inspired or not, you write until you
hit that goal (at the least) and you can fix those "uninspired parts"
when revising. Anyways, with that in mind, I decided to try some writing
today and I'm going to share it. It's nothing special, just trying to
get back in the habit. (This one actually only comes in at 1,999 words,
but that was on purpose).
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Running Miles
Miles was one of the least athletic kids in his school and he knew it. He was chubby, smoked a few cigarettes a day, and was known more for his ability to sit in front of the TV more than anything else. He was the last kid anyone expected to see running in a school cross-country meet. Yet here he was, pushing his legs for all he was worth, knowing that the longest half-mile of his life was all the existed between him and the impossible.
As he pushed himself, doing all he could to ignore the pain in his legs that had been with him from the start of the race along with the pain in his side that showed up after the first mile, he recalled all that had brought him here.
First, determined to change his life for the better, he signed up for the cross-country team. He knew he’d never compete in a school meet, but the practices would be enough to help him get in shape. Never mind that so far, even in practice, he’d yet to finish a whole course, that his eating habits hadn’t changed or that he still smoked whenever he could steal the cigarettes from his mom. All that mattered to him was the first step of being on the team.
Next was his decision to come to that day’s meet even though he had no chance of actually competing. He felt no solidarity with his team; in fact he was often the subject of their harassment and ridicule. Yet for reasons he couldn’t figure out, he put on his running suit and caught a city bus down to the school.
Then there was the unfortunate car wreck earlier in the morning that injured three of the day’s runners for his school, which led to the coach asking Miles if he could just give it a shot so he could fill out the roster.
Finally, there was that yes that escaped from Miles’ mouth before he even had a chance to stop it.
Now here he was in dead last, but determined to finish. He didn’t know why he was so determined. He was sure no one actually expected him to finish, including himself. It wouldn’t make any difference; all the other runners had finished and Miles wouldn’t have been the least surprised to get to the end to find everyone had already left. The top finishers would all be hugging and laughing while their parents congratulated them while those coming in later would still receive words of encouragement from their parents and teammates.
“It was a good effort and I’m sure you’ll do better next time!”
“Way to finish strong!”
“You were just having a bad day; next time you’ll get it.”
Each step for Miles now felt bitter. Those kids, if nothing else, had their parents waiting for them; probably to drive them to a nice restaurant for a congratulations or consoling dinner. Miles thought of his mother, passed out on the couch from another late night of drinking as he left this morning. It would’ve been so easy to just grab the half empty bottle from the coffee table and spend the day alone in his room, so easy…
Although his pace was comparable to that of many mall-walkers Miles had seen from the bookstore he worked in, he almost felt he was pushing too hard. Maybe if just slowed down a little bit, his legs wouldn’t feel like they were going to give out from beneath him. He told himself to slow down, commanded his legs to just ease up a little, but they wouldn’t do it. Somewhere in his brain was a desire he never knew he had; to give it all he could no matter how painful it might be.
He thought of the bookstore he worked in. Miles had hated books his whole life. He hated reading and his grades very much reflected that. Yet for as long as he could remember people had always given him books as gifts. It was as if everyone assumed since he was overweight, his favorite hobby must be reading. Taking a job at a bookstore only enforced this belief in people, even when he told them the only reason he took the job was because they were the first place willing to hire him. Most days at work he imagined burning the place down.
As he thought of this, he became very aware of a burning sensation in his lungs. He cursed himself for every cigarette he’d ever smoked and swore to himself he’d never touch the things again, no matter how good he knew it would feel to have one when he finished the race. How did he ever end up smoking? He could remember even as a little boy watching his mom cough all the time because of her smoking. He told himself he’d never let that be him. Where did he go wrong?
The course was primarily set up through a heavily wooded area and Miles almost tripped over a tree root. Again his mind was back in the race, trying to figure out how much of the course there could be left. He knew the finish line was just a few hundred feet from the edge of the woods, so if he could just make it through this part, the rest would be easy. And should he clear the woods and see that everyone was gone, then he’d allow himself to just stop. It shouldn’t matter to him if there were witnesses or not, he knew he’d already be the laughing stock of the day, but it did matter; they could see him struggle, but he wouldn’t let them see him fail.
Not that it would be anything new – Miles was use to failing; use to giving up, use to witnesses, and use to the inevitable teasing high school kids used make sure everyone knew their place in the pecking order. But if he could just make it this one time, even if he went right back to failing, then it would be alright; he’d have this one time to hold on to and know that when he puts his mind to it, he can do even the impossible. He ignored the question in the back of his mind asking how finishing in last wasn’t failing.
There was the edge of the woods coming up; he could finally see it. Just a little bit further and Miles would be in the home stretch. The realization of that made him determined to finish the whole course, witnesses or not. If he hadn’t been so tired, Miles was sure he would’ve been smiling.
A sharp pain shot through his chest and Miles wondered for a second if he was having a heart attack. After a few seconds, Miles realized that was a stupid thing to wonder. It was just his body reacting to having run so far and not being used to it; heart attacks happen to old people and people that were way more out of shape than him.
As he left the woods and looked towards the finish line, Miles almost fell over from surprise – there was still a sizeable crowd. In fact, it didn’t look like anyone had left. Were they all really waiting for him? Or were they just there for custom; nobody leaves until all runners are finished?
A large cheer came from the crowd and Miles wondered if it was for him. He didn’t want to get his hopes up, but he felt like it had to be. Everyone else was done; what other reason was there to cheer? It was probably his imagination (he was still too far away to hear anything discernible or recognize individual voices), but he thought he could almost hear people saying his name.
At the same time, the pain in his legs was becoming unbearable. Miles was sure they’d buckle at any moment and he’d fail. Again. He realized he couldn’t think of the end, couldn’t look at the crowd waiting for him. Instead, he looked to the ground, focusing on each step he took. Even if it killed him, he was going to finish this race; he just had to take it one step at a time.
He must be getting much closer, the noises from the crowd were growing loud. He really could hear his name being called out.
Just one more step…
He glanced at the crowd quick and saw that someone had even made a sign for him; Go Miles! He had to look back to the ground almost as soon as he read it not only to focus on keeping his feet moving, but he felt some part of him that suddenly wanted to cry.
Just one more step…
There was a tingling feeling in his arm. Was it real or was he imagining it after scaring himself earlier about having a heart attack? Surely it was his imagination. And even if it wasn’t, he was surprised his whole body was tingling at this point.
Just one more step…
Another glance to the crowd to see his teammates waving their arms and shouting encouragement. But not only his teammates; members of the opposing team were cheering for him too! Classmates were jumping up and down, warming smiles on their faces. Miles was sure he was going to cry soon now.
Just one more step…
Looking back to the ground he saw one of his shoes had come untied. Of all the times for this to happen, he was sure this was the absolute worst. Mere moments from finishing the run of his life, from completing something he never thought possible, the possibility of tripping because of a stupid string became very real for him. He couldn’t stop now, he knew that, he’d have to take his chances and hope fate would spare him any cruelty for at least a little longer.
Just one more step…
He had to look at the crowd again to forget about the shoe lace. To forget about the pains in his chest, lungs, and legs. Their smiles, their cheers and waves; all of it filled him with joy he never knew possible. He didn’t care that he didn’t know the majority of these people and most of those he did know had always been mean or indifferent to him. He didn’t even care that things would go back to normal by tomorrow morning and once again he’d be a whipping boy or a nobody. All that mattered now was that this was his crowd and they were cheering him on.
Just one more step…
He thought he might pass out. How could it feel so much harder now that he was so close? Where was that final surge of adrenaline he’d heard about from so many athletes, that last bit that pushes you forward when you see the end because you know you’ve finally made it? Not that Miles had any doubt about finishing now, but he really wouldn’t mind if didn’t feel so physically painful.
Just one more step…
Eyes back to the crowd. He was so close, it couldn’t be more than thirty feet now. No longer was the cheering a bunch of individuals making a lot of different noises that were hardly separable from each other. Instead they’d all broken out in unison, “Miles! Miles! Miles!” His teammates had all locked arms and stood waiting for him on the other side of the finish line, the coach leading them in the chant of his name.
Just one more step…
This was it, he was sp very close. He wished his mom was there. He hoped she would believe him when he told her this story later. He wished the pain in his chest would go away so he could fully focus on all the joy he felt in this moment.
Just one more step…
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Running Miles
Miles was one of the least athletic kids in his school and he knew it. He was chubby, smoked a few cigarettes a day, and was known more for his ability to sit in front of the TV more than anything else. He was the last kid anyone expected to see running in a school cross-country meet. Yet here he was, pushing his legs for all he was worth, knowing that the longest half-mile of his life was all the existed between him and the impossible.
As he pushed himself, doing all he could to ignore the pain in his legs that had been with him from the start of the race along with the pain in his side that showed up after the first mile, he recalled all that had brought him here.
First, determined to change his life for the better, he signed up for the cross-country team. He knew he’d never compete in a school meet, but the practices would be enough to help him get in shape. Never mind that so far, even in practice, he’d yet to finish a whole course, that his eating habits hadn’t changed or that he still smoked whenever he could steal the cigarettes from his mom. All that mattered to him was the first step of being on the team.
Next was his decision to come to that day’s meet even though he had no chance of actually competing. He felt no solidarity with his team; in fact he was often the subject of their harassment and ridicule. Yet for reasons he couldn’t figure out, he put on his running suit and caught a city bus down to the school.
Then there was the unfortunate car wreck earlier in the morning that injured three of the day’s runners for his school, which led to the coach asking Miles if he could just give it a shot so he could fill out the roster.
Finally, there was that yes that escaped from Miles’ mouth before he even had a chance to stop it.
Now here he was in dead last, but determined to finish. He didn’t know why he was so determined. He was sure no one actually expected him to finish, including himself. It wouldn’t make any difference; all the other runners had finished and Miles wouldn’t have been the least surprised to get to the end to find everyone had already left. The top finishers would all be hugging and laughing while their parents congratulated them while those coming in later would still receive words of encouragement from their parents and teammates.
“It was a good effort and I’m sure you’ll do better next time!”
“Way to finish strong!”
“You were just having a bad day; next time you’ll get it.”
Each step for Miles now felt bitter. Those kids, if nothing else, had their parents waiting for them; probably to drive them to a nice restaurant for a congratulations or consoling dinner. Miles thought of his mother, passed out on the couch from another late night of drinking as he left this morning. It would’ve been so easy to just grab the half empty bottle from the coffee table and spend the day alone in his room, so easy…
Although his pace was comparable to that of many mall-walkers Miles had seen from the bookstore he worked in, he almost felt he was pushing too hard. Maybe if just slowed down a little bit, his legs wouldn’t feel like they were going to give out from beneath him. He told himself to slow down, commanded his legs to just ease up a little, but they wouldn’t do it. Somewhere in his brain was a desire he never knew he had; to give it all he could no matter how painful it might be.
He thought of the bookstore he worked in. Miles had hated books his whole life. He hated reading and his grades very much reflected that. Yet for as long as he could remember people had always given him books as gifts. It was as if everyone assumed since he was overweight, his favorite hobby must be reading. Taking a job at a bookstore only enforced this belief in people, even when he told them the only reason he took the job was because they were the first place willing to hire him. Most days at work he imagined burning the place down.
As he thought of this, he became very aware of a burning sensation in his lungs. He cursed himself for every cigarette he’d ever smoked and swore to himself he’d never touch the things again, no matter how good he knew it would feel to have one when he finished the race. How did he ever end up smoking? He could remember even as a little boy watching his mom cough all the time because of her smoking. He told himself he’d never let that be him. Where did he go wrong?
The course was primarily set up through a heavily wooded area and Miles almost tripped over a tree root. Again his mind was back in the race, trying to figure out how much of the course there could be left. He knew the finish line was just a few hundred feet from the edge of the woods, so if he could just make it through this part, the rest would be easy. And should he clear the woods and see that everyone was gone, then he’d allow himself to just stop. It shouldn’t matter to him if there were witnesses or not, he knew he’d already be the laughing stock of the day, but it did matter; they could see him struggle, but he wouldn’t let them see him fail.
Not that it would be anything new – Miles was use to failing; use to giving up, use to witnesses, and use to the inevitable teasing high school kids used make sure everyone knew their place in the pecking order. But if he could just make it this one time, even if he went right back to failing, then it would be alright; he’d have this one time to hold on to and know that when he puts his mind to it, he can do even the impossible. He ignored the question in the back of his mind asking how finishing in last wasn’t failing.
There was the edge of the woods coming up; he could finally see it. Just a little bit further and Miles would be in the home stretch. The realization of that made him determined to finish the whole course, witnesses or not. If he hadn’t been so tired, Miles was sure he would’ve been smiling.
A sharp pain shot through his chest and Miles wondered for a second if he was having a heart attack. After a few seconds, Miles realized that was a stupid thing to wonder. It was just his body reacting to having run so far and not being used to it; heart attacks happen to old people and people that were way more out of shape than him.
As he left the woods and looked towards the finish line, Miles almost fell over from surprise – there was still a sizeable crowd. In fact, it didn’t look like anyone had left. Were they all really waiting for him? Or were they just there for custom; nobody leaves until all runners are finished?
A large cheer came from the crowd and Miles wondered if it was for him. He didn’t want to get his hopes up, but he felt like it had to be. Everyone else was done; what other reason was there to cheer? It was probably his imagination (he was still too far away to hear anything discernible or recognize individual voices), but he thought he could almost hear people saying his name.
At the same time, the pain in his legs was becoming unbearable. Miles was sure they’d buckle at any moment and he’d fail. Again. He realized he couldn’t think of the end, couldn’t look at the crowd waiting for him. Instead, he looked to the ground, focusing on each step he took. Even if it killed him, he was going to finish this race; he just had to take it one step at a time.
He must be getting much closer, the noises from the crowd were growing loud. He really could hear his name being called out.
Just one more step…
He glanced at the crowd quick and saw that someone had even made a sign for him; Go Miles! He had to look back to the ground almost as soon as he read it not only to focus on keeping his feet moving, but he felt some part of him that suddenly wanted to cry.
Just one more step…
There was a tingling feeling in his arm. Was it real or was he imagining it after scaring himself earlier about having a heart attack? Surely it was his imagination. And even if it wasn’t, he was surprised his whole body was tingling at this point.
Just one more step…
Another glance to the crowd to see his teammates waving their arms and shouting encouragement. But not only his teammates; members of the opposing team were cheering for him too! Classmates were jumping up and down, warming smiles on their faces. Miles was sure he was going to cry soon now.
Just one more step…
Looking back to the ground he saw one of his shoes had come untied. Of all the times for this to happen, he was sure this was the absolute worst. Mere moments from finishing the run of his life, from completing something he never thought possible, the possibility of tripping because of a stupid string became very real for him. He couldn’t stop now, he knew that, he’d have to take his chances and hope fate would spare him any cruelty for at least a little longer.
Just one more step…
He had to look at the crowd again to forget about the shoe lace. To forget about the pains in his chest, lungs, and legs. Their smiles, their cheers and waves; all of it filled him with joy he never knew possible. He didn’t care that he didn’t know the majority of these people and most of those he did know had always been mean or indifferent to him. He didn’t even care that things would go back to normal by tomorrow morning and once again he’d be a whipping boy or a nobody. All that mattered now was that this was his crowd and they were cheering him on.
Just one more step…
He thought he might pass out. How could it feel so much harder now that he was so close? Where was that final surge of adrenaline he’d heard about from so many athletes, that last bit that pushes you forward when you see the end because you know you’ve finally made it? Not that Miles had any doubt about finishing now, but he really wouldn’t mind if didn’t feel so physically painful.
Just one more step…
Eyes back to the crowd. He was so close, it couldn’t be more than thirty feet now. No longer was the cheering a bunch of individuals making a lot of different noises that were hardly separable from each other. Instead they’d all broken out in unison, “Miles! Miles! Miles!” His teammates had all locked arms and stood waiting for him on the other side of the finish line, the coach leading them in the chant of his name.
Just one more step…
This was it, he was sp very close. He wished his mom was there. He hoped she would believe him when he told her this story later. He wished the pain in his chest would go away so he could fully focus on all the joy he felt in this moment.
Just one more step…
posted by Paul | 4:18 AM
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