Run to You

Run to You By J.D. Walker Wednesday My lungs were on fire. Why was I doing this again? Oh, yeah, I signed up for a 5k race to impress a co-worker and get him to notice me. Smooth, man. Real smooth. I usually avoided anything to do with getting sweaty, except s*x, of course. I’m not that crazy. But the last time I had done anything even remotely athletic was in college, and that was only because it was a required course as a freshman, and it was softball. I rode the bench, mostly. So here I was at seven o’clock in the evening, running on the treadmill at the gym as I tried to make it to the half-hour mark. Everyone else around me looked focused and impressive—expensive exercise attire, iPods, that focused ‘just do it’ look. I had on an old pair of shorts from college that sported a few holes and a faded SpongeBob T-shirt. Plus I was wearing really old, dirty sneakers, capped with a decidedly un-focused demeanor as I silently begged the gods for all this to be over, right the hell now. The only thing that kept me going was the knowledge that, if I made it through this, I would be able to run in the same race as the man of my dreams, and he’d finally see me as someone who had something in common with him, rather than the f**k-up I tended be in his presence. He’d been talking about the event for months, and I saw it as my chance to change things between us, maybe, in my favor. Pathetic, isn’t it? But I couldn’t help myself. I was obsessed. Half an hour—at last! Jesus, that took forever. I stopped the treadmill and hung onto the handle bars, trying to catch my breath and not collapse from sheer exhaustion. Belatedly I realized that someone was waiting to use it. So I took my towel, wiped down the machine, and headed for the showers. It’s a good thing the race was a few days away. I didn’t know how much more of this I could take. Twenty minutes later, I was out the door and on my way to the train station, heading home. I lived in a two-bedroom apartment in downtown Atlanta on Peachtree, near the Fox Theatre. Mel, the security guard at the front desk, greeted me as I walked by. I took the elevator to the tenth floor and walked down the hall to my door. Damn, it was good to be home. Now I could collapse and groan as loud as I wanted with no one else to witness my shame. I didn’t even make it past the couch. Falling face down on the pillows, I just lay there, eyes closed, willing my body to stop hurting. My cellphone started ringing. Damn it. “’Lo?” I answered, pressing the phone to my ear. “Tyson?” a female voice asked. “Yeah?” “It’s June from work. Sorry to call you so late.” It was nine o’clock. “It’s fine, hon. What’s up?” I knew what was coming next. “Well, the call center is going crazy, and Seth didn’t turn up for his shift. Can you come in? We could really use your help on the phones.” She sounded stressed. Sighing, I said, “Sure, June, I can come in. Give me an hour and I’ll be there.” “Tyson, I really appreciate this. Thanks so much! We’ll see about giving you a comp day, okay?” “It’s fine. Don’t worry about it. I gotta go. See you in a bit.” I hung up. June always called me when no one else was available or they were conveniently ‘busy.’ She knew I was a pushover. I never said no. I think I need to get a life.