Physical Exahustion

At this point, I would believe that practice in the desert may actually be enjoyable, as it has to be cooler in the desert than it currently is. At least in the desert, you don't have water standing there. Taunting you.


It stares at us coolly while we run, while we work, while we stand. It celebrates every lap and mile we take, and when we have water, it laughs forever still, for it knows that we're still thirsty, and laughs at the poor fools who drink to much, and suffer from the dreaded stomach cramp. Downing more than 3 drinks of water results in the illusionary knife to be thrust into your stomach, but less than 3 results in a barren mouth, your tongue scraping every drop of moisture from the sides of the walls of your mouth.

The sun continues to beat down, while our feet continue to pound on the unforgiving grass. Everyone believes that grass is a soft and comfortable padding, up until the point where you nearly collapse on it due to a rubberized sensation in your legs.

And still, the water cooler taunts us. The bottles drip with beads of condensation, and the clink of ice promises us a cold salvation. We run pass it not once, not twice, but thrice times around it. You lose count of the distance, and just keep your legs propelling you around the track.

The burning sensation in your lungs worsen, until you feel as if breathing is more painful than holding your breath, until you actually try the process. Then, a brief reprise; a quick break to regain your breath. You take deep breaths, trying to quell the trembling in your legs, trying to ignore the burning lungs, and the darkening vision envelops the world, only to retreat with each breath.

You ask for the time.

4:17.

Fuck.