Running From the Zombies

I feel like a zombie most days now. Sixth period AP Calc drags on forever, my brain frayed from four hours of sleep and the endless scroll of notifications I couldn't stop checking last night. My parents don't get it – "just focus," they say, like it's that simple.

Then practice happens. Padel with the squad on Wednesdays is the only thing that makes me feel alive again. The thwack of the ball against the glass walls, the way Maya's laugh echoes when she misses an easy shot, the competitive grin Leo shoots me every time we're on opposite sides of the court. For an hour, I'm not worried about grades or college apps or whether I said the wrong thing in group chat. I'm just playing.

The running started as a joke. Our captain, Javier, bet us that whoever lost the tournament had to do laps around the neighborhood. I lost spectacularly – serving into the net three times in a row. But something clicked during that first lap. The burning in my lungs, the rhythm of my sneakers hitting pavement, the way everything simplified to just keep going.

Now I run before practice. Sometimes the others join me. We talk about nothing important – the weird cafeteria food, that viral TikTok nobody can stop doing, how we're all terrified about next year. Other times we run in comfortable silence, just breathing together.

Last night I actually slept eight hours. Woke up before my alarm. The zombie feeling is still there sometimes, but it's different now. More manageable.

I lace up my running shoes and head out, knowing Maya and Leo will be waiting at the courts. Whatever today throws at me – whatever test, whatever drama, whatever pressure – I can handle it. I've got my squad, I've got this sport I randomly fell in love with, and I've got this weird new habit of running toward everything instead of away.

The zombie days aren't gone, but they don't own me anymore.