Forward, forward, forward. Skirt the next group of people, with an announcement he's coming through. Forward, forward, forward. Remember to take a breath. Step. Another step. Another step. All of them mantra's that are falling over and over and over like splashing water. Clearing everything out. Winnowing everything else down. Shutting it down and out, when it's all the rush.
Even if it is still very much not the top. Well, the top of the mountain, almost. The top of what he could do, anywhere near his fastest time running things, no. But he didn't entirely come out here for himself. He decided against leaving and running this morning, for convenience, for the things he still had to after it. For, if he's admitting it, thin air and thinner walls, melting at the seams of strain, that suffocating house, even.
That thought still there, when Cath's footsteps, the only other running set near him, as speeding into a last ditch spring to reach him. Or the top. Propelling him to actually dig into this run suddenly. Throwing her a look that's surprised question as much as it is delighted challenge and absolutely no cent of give, if she's going to try. He'll actually start trying to push himself into the zone where this is wearing.
Where he could lose everything. Outrace everything but the gusty wind. Slam every foot thinking only of the step two or three a head of this one. No single thought for where his weight came from, for the last steps or the people behind, or the run back down. Throwing everything toward this last forty, thirty, twenty feet. The metal grating top leveling out before his eyes.
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branchandroot
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Date: 2013-01-28 01:17 am (UTC)Even if it is still very much not the top. Well, the top of the mountain, almost. The top of what he could do, anywhere near his fastest time running things, no. But he didn't entirely come out here for himself. He decided against leaving and running this morning, for convenience, for the things he still had to after it. For, if he's admitting it, thin air and thinner walls, melting at the seams of strain, that suffocating house, even.
That thought still there, when Cath's footsteps, the only other running set near him, as speeding into a last ditch spring to reach him. Or the top. Propelling him to actually dig into this run suddenly. Throwing her a look that's surprised question as much as it is delighted challenge and absolutely no cent of give, if she's going to try. He'll actually start trying to push himself into the zone where this is wearing.
Where he could lose everything. Outrace everything but the gusty wind. Slam every foot thinking only of the step two or three a head of this one. No single thought for where his weight came from, for the last steps or the people behind, or the run back down. Throwing everything toward this last forty, thirty, twenty feet. The metal grating top leveling out before his eyes.