Zombie Pace

Two weeks after Jordan dumped me via three-line text, I'd perfected the art of zombie mode. Show up to school, move through classes like I'm animated by sheer spite, collapse into bed at 4 AM replaying every conversation we ever had. My mom called it 'emotionally processing.' I called it survival.

Cross country practice was the only place I could outrun the spiral in my head. Or so I thought, until Coach Boucher announced the annual Bear Creek time trial. 'Three miles uphill,' she said, clipboard in hand. 'Gonna find out what you're made of.'

What I was made of, apparently, was caffeine-fueled anxiety and a borderline unhealthy relationship with running until my lungs burned.

The gun went off. I took off with everyone else, legs pumping, breath already coming hard. Half a mile in, I found my rhythm. Then I heard footsteps behind me.

'You're too far forward, Martinez,' someone panted. It was Taylor from varsity, who'd barely acknowledged my existence all season. 'You're gonna crash before the mile mark.'

'Not today,' I shot back, even though I could feel the stitch already forming in my side.

'This isn't just running,' she said, falling into step beside me. 'This is where you find out if you can bear it.' She gestured at the incline ahead. 'When everything screams stop. When your legs are lead and your brain's begging to quit. That's when it matters.'

We ran the next mile together in silence, both of us breathing hard, sweat dripping down our backs. I could feel myself fading, that familiar temptation to just walk, to quit, to text Jordan back and beg. Instead, I focused on Taylor's breathing, steady and rhythmic beside me.

'We're almost there,' she said finally. 'Last push. Don't think about it. Just GO.'

And somehow, I did. I stopped thinking about Jordan, about the AP tests I was failing, about the friends who'd chosen sides. I ran. I crossed the finish line and collapsed onto the grass, staring up at the sky while my heart hammered against my ribs.

Taylor dropped down beside me. 'Not bad, Martinez. Not bad at all.'

I lay there for a long time, exhausted and somehow more awake than I'd felt in weeks. The zombie fog had lifted. I'd borne it. I'd made it through. And somewhere along the way, I'd realized I didn't need Jordan to be whole – I just needed to keep putting one foot in front of the other, even when everything hurt.

Especially then.