The Vitamin Bull Runs at Midnight

Maya's mom had gone full wellness-culture psycho. The kitchen counter was basically a vitamin dispensary — little orange bottles everywhere like some sort of nutritional cult. "This one's for focus!" Mom chirped, sliding a gross green smoothie across the counter. "Spinach, kale, actually tastes like sunshine!"

It definitely did not taste like sunshine.

Maya grabbed the smoothie because fighting back wasn't worth the energy. Besides, she had bigger problems. Like how she'd somehow agreed to join the cross-country team to prove something to everyone — mostly herself. The first practice was tomorrow, and she hadn't run anywhere voluntarily since gym class last year.

Her phone buzzed. Group chat going off.

"you're actually doing cross country??" texted Kayla. "girl you hate running lmaooo"

"shut up," Maya typed back. "it's about growth."

The next afternoon, Maya stood at the trail head with like thirty other teens in various states of athletic gear. The coach, this intense guy who definitely drank too much coffee, was explaining something about intervals and heart rate zones. Maya was trying not to panic.

"Alright, let's see what you've got," Coach yelled. "First mile out-and-back. Go!"

They took off like actual racehorses. Maya settled somewhere in the middle, already regretting every life choice that led to this moment. Her lungs burned. Her legs felt like jelly. Why did anyone do this voluntarily?

Then she saw him ahead — this senior named Marcus who everyone said was basically a god on the trails. He was running easy, like this was nothing, like gravity worked differently for him. And there, printed across his back in huge letters: "BULL RUNNING CLUB."

Wait. What?

Marcus slowed down as she caught up, then matched her pace. "First day?"

"Is it that obvious?" Maya wheezed.

"Everyone looks like they're dying on day one," he grinned. "You'll get used to it. The bull thing — it's this dumb tradition. We run the trails behind the Wilson farm. Sometimes the bull chases us. Sometimes it doesn't."

"YOU RUN FROM ACTUAL BULLS?"

"Keeps you fast," Marcus said. "Thursday night. If you survive tomorrow's practice, you're invited."

That night, Maya actually drank the spinach smoothie without complaining. Her mom nearly fainted from shock.

Thursday came. Maya made it through practice without dying, which apparently was the bar for entry. At sunset, she found herself at the Wilson farm with Marcus and like ten other runners, standing in front of an actual field with an actual bull grazing peacefully inside.

"So how does this work?" Maya asked, trying to sound chill and not absolutely terrified.

"We run the perimeter trail," Marcus explained. "If he charges, we sprint. If he doesn't, we chill. It's about staying present."

"That's the dumbest thing I've ever heard," Maya said.

"Yeah," Marcus laughed. "Pretty much."

They ran. The bull watched them with what Maya swear was judgment in its giant bovine eyes. It didn't chase them. It just stood there, chewing, absolutely unimpressed by their whole situation.

But something shifted in Maya's chest. The fear, the pressure, the feeling like she had to prove something — it all felt smaller out here. Under the sky, running through actual grass, with this ridiculous group of people and their ridiculous bull tradition.

"You coming back?" Marcus asked as they finished.

Maya thought about her mom's vitamins. About trying to be something she wasn't. About how sometimes you find the weirdest stuff and it just... fits.

"Yeah," she said. "I'm coming back."

Her mom cried when she heard about the bull running thing. But then she started researching which vitamins would help with recovery. Some things never change.