He was born to run. He was born to conquer. Some may say the man above had a divine plan set out for him and other counter parts through this world. Regardless of that man’s decision he knew he was a runner…and not many people can share a realization of a gift as that.
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As he was closing home on a run he named himself “The Corkscrew,” the closing parts of this run were difficult. Difficult is too sugar coated of a word to use, it was more so hellish. Just like the name infers, this run was up and over undulating hills. Hills often scare the runner but not him. He attacked and attacked and attacked once more. On this routine 16 mile run in the sweet September night air he was building up battery acid in his legs. For what seemed a nice relaxing over distance run at first he always had a dirty habit of closing it in too hard. It just became a natural habit. A drug addicts way of life, but he chose running, and he chose to run hard.
He could see the campus now. Just one final 800 meter hill and a 200 meter straight away would be his destiny tonight. His breathing was nearly reaching the panting of two couples making passionate love. To him running was all the love he needed to make to him. Girls could never understood why he ran, neither did he understand them back…but at the same time he understood her. Her world. His world. It was so perfect. Running was his girlfriend after all.
Each and every lackluster breathe he knew he was gaining. Conquering this beast of a hill. The steepness is what always got to him, but tonight it was different. Tonight he was going to win. No inanimate object was going to control his destiny. Not tonight nor ever. He was at the half way point by now. Climbing this rocky muddy terrain was hard enough, but when there are a few tricky potholes that disguise themselves that could mean trouble. Pumping his arms as fast as Muhammad Ali would practice on his speed bags he too was reaching the destiny. As faithful Gallowalkers might say “I might just stop for a bit,” this thought entertained his mind, but he then caught vision of what his destiny was to be. What he wanted to conquer. He was soon a top, he could now see his dorm room a clear sprint away. He like any hopeless romantic of this sport found himself thinking of all his tribulations, his goals and aspirations…just the thought of it once again made him sprint and surge. More so he was ashamed of his past and his lack of achievements. His setbacks are what drove him to this ultimate breaking point.
Often times he would forget why he would run, why he would be out there all alone by himself in the world. Where he could find this reserve at this painful of a task even he questions himself sometimes. And just like that it was over. A race against himself, his will, his power. A race against what he stood for in this life. The only thing that he knew in his life that was right.
Walking up the cement stairs to the doors of his dorm room he was in reverie with what just happened. Did it really happen? Was he finished with the run? All these thoughts would soon disappear because he was just glad that he had the task done for the day. Earlier this morning he had set out on a quick seven miler just to loosen up the legs and create some blood flow. He was running about 150 miles a week give or take. This was his world. His world compromised pretty much this and the constant revered thoughts of his training log. Why is he running so much some would say (but to him it wasn’t nearly enough)? What is his mission? Why is he doing this? Who is he? He is none other than Quenton Cassidy of course.