The final bell of the day didn't just signal the end of social studies. It also sounded like a starting pistol.
"Have a great weekend, everyone," the teacher called out over the sudden roar of shuffling papers and sliding chairs. "Don't forget to review all of chapter 2. They will be on Monday’s quiz."
Doug was already halfway out of his seat when a shadow fell across his desk. It was Leo and Jane, two friends he had known since he was in elementary school. Through luck, they shared many of the same classes, allowing them to work as a group for the projects and study together for tests. Today, they looked energized, already vibrating with the freedom of a Friday afternoon.
"Hey, Doug," Leo said, leaning back against the neighboring desk. "A bunch of us are heading over to that place across from the new ice cream shop later. There’s a party starting around eight. You should come with us to get your mind off the books for a bit."
Doug paused, his hand gripping the strap of his backpack. For a fleeting second, the image of a normal Friday night flickered in his mind: music, loud laughter, and the simple relief of not worrying about how he would perform in the upcoming competition. He had loved just being carefree in life as he hung out with friends.
"I can't," Doug said, his voice polite but firm after he finished an internal debate that was over within seconds.
He offered a small, apologetic shrug.
"I’ve got training for the regional qualifiers. I cannot afford to be behind in anything. The competition isn’t getting any easier, and I won’t be happy with anything outside the top five. Maybe I can join you two in the summer break when I have more free time. Right now, it’s just not very convenient for me."
He saw the flicker of disappointment in Jane’s eyes, and the way Leo’s expression shifted from excitement to a kind of distant pity. They didn't get it. To them, a weekend was a break. To Doug, a weekend was a window of opportunity that was closing fast. He couldn’t afford to slack off when he had been working so hard to get enough money. The shift from the previous night was still fresh.
"Right," Leo said, his tone cooling slightly. "The fencing thing. Well, the offer stands if you change your mind."
"Thanks, but I can't," Doug repeated. "Good luck with the party, though."
He didn't wait for them to respond. He moved through the crowded hallway with practiced agility, weaving between groups of students who were making plans he could never be a part of. The locker room was a sanctuary of linoleum and cold metal. As the sounds of the school faded behind the heavy swinging door, Doug quickly swapped his jeans and sneakers for his running gear.
By the time he finished changing and stepped out of the locker room, Doug could swear that the place was so quiet that he could hear a pin drop. This was pretty common for the students as they rushed out the door at the first opportunity on a Friday afternoon. Things like homework could wait until Sunday night when plenty of activities awaited them after school. Their freedom was meant to be spent taking advantage of all the opportunities that opened up, especially as they were getting older and age restrictions became less of a thing. Yet, Doug was surprised to see the teachers were also mostly gone as well. By the time he stepped out of the school, the parking lot only had a few vehicles left. After taking a deep breath, he started his run, having already mapped out where he would run.
The urban noise of the school vanished behind him as Doug hit the pavement, his breath finding a steady, rhythmic cadence. This wasn't just a run; it was a 22-kilometer ritual he did every Friday afternoon. He first ran past the many buildings that made up the downtown. He went past them all the time, but he never bothered going inside any of them. There was a grocery store closer to home, and he never had disposable income for shopping either. He had to save every cent if he hoped to keep his fencing dreams come true. The streets were filled with people who had begun their weekend, but Doug maneuvered past them with ease.
When the paved path gave way to the wide gravel of the trail, the scenery began to transform. To his left, the tidy backyards of Kingston’s suburban edge slipped by, but to his right, the massive limestone rock cuts rose up like ancient, gray cathedrals. The sun caught the glint of minerals in the stone, and Doug felt a sense of awe at the sheer verticality of the rock, the jagged edges a reminder of the rugged Canadian Shield beneath the city’s surface. Regardless of how many times he had run past this scenery, he still found himself in awe. This was one of the reasons why he picked this route.
As he pushed deeper into the trail, the limestone gave way to the sprawling liberation of the countryside. The air changed, losing the scent of exhaust and burned rubber, replaced by the damp, sweet smell of wetlands and the sharp, resinous perfume of pine needles. The path opened up into a landscape of golden-hued farmland and dense thickets of forest. For a moment, Doug wasn't a cashier or a student or a fencer. He was just a body in motion. A red-tailed hawk circled lazily in the thermals above a fallow field, and near a stretch of marshy water, a painted turtle slipped off a log with a quiet plop as he passed. Further in, a white-tailed deer paused at the edge of a cedar grove, its ears twitching toward the sound of his footsteps before it vanished into the brush with a flash of white.
Doug did look around, but this wasn’t one of those days. At times, he could spot some beavers out and about with their dam-building activities. He once paused as he watched from afar while a beaver worked on bringing down a tree. It was patient and, at the right moment, it backed away before the tree came down. Then, it went about chewing off the branches to drag them into the water. Doug couldn’t explain it, but the scene felt rather refreshing. He also felt like he was given a second wind, which allowed him to resume his run with a burst of speed.
While he didn’t catch any beavers this day, the run still did its job. His lungs burned, but it was a good burn, the kind that felt like progress. His legs moved with a mechanical precision, his footfalls landing light on the gravel. Despite the distance, he wasn't gasping. His heart rate was elevated but controlled. In the heart of the forest, surrounded by the towering maples and oaks, Doug felt the weight of his responsibilities lift. Out here, there were no supervisors, no rivals with expensive coaches, and no disappointed classmates. There was only the trail and the oxygen filling his chest.
By the time the trail looped back toward the urban horizon and the distant skyline of the city reappeared, Doug felt recharged. His shirt was mapped with sweat, and his muscles felt tight and primed, but his stride remained bouncy.
The apartment was silent when Doug stepped inside, the air still and smelling faintly of the morning’s coffee. Doug called for his mother a few times and, when he got no response, he checked his phone. A single text from his mother during his run stared back at him.
Working overtime. Don't wait up. Help yourself to the leftovers in the fridge. Love you.
He felt a pang of guilt mixed with a fresh surge of resolve. He was tired, his legs still humming from the 22-kilometer trail, but he couldn't stop now. He walked into the kitchen, his footsteps heavy on the linoleum, and poured a glass of orange juice. He downed it in a few long, cold gulps, the sugar hitting his system like a spark of fuel. He stared at the nearly empty container, debating if he should buy more next time he passed the grocery store. As he took out his wallet and stared at the emptiness inside, he filled his glass with tap water and downed it in one gulp.
Back in the cramped confines of his bedroom, Doug didn't let himself sit on the bed. If he sat down, he knew he wouldn't get back up. Instead, he cleared a small space on the floor, kicked off his running shoes, and set the timer on his phone for thirty minutes.
Phase two began.
"One... two... three..." he hissed under his breath, his voice a low rhythmic chant as he sank into a deep lunge.
The transition from the fluid motion of running to the static, explosive power of fencing drills was brutal. His quadriceps, already taxed from the gravel inclines of the trail, began to throb. Once he finished his lunges, he moved to squats and started counting up again. When he shifted into squats, the throbbing turned into a sharp, searing heat, but he still kept going.
"One... two... three..."
By the time he hit the floor for the planks, his entire body was trembling. Sweat dripped from the tip of his nose, spotting the hardwood floor beneath him. His core felt like it was being twisted, his abdominal muscles screaming for him to just drop, to just let the floor take his weight. But Doug stared at the glowing digits of the countdown timer, his jaw locked so tight it ached. He had gotten this far so he might as well keep going until he reached the finish line.
Conditioning was the foundation. Without the legs to drive the lunge or the core to stabilize the parry, the best technique in the world was useless. He knew his rivals were likely in air-conditioned gyms with foam rollers and recovery shakes. He only had his floor and his willpower. Those and a mother who was still working hard to get the bills paid off on time.
"Almost... there..."
When the timer finally let out its shrill, digital cry, Doug collapsed onto his stomach for a long second, his chest heaving. He had pushed past the wall and come out the other side. The walk to the bathroom felt like wading through deep water. Every muscle was a dull ache, and his coordination was frayed by fatigue. Through sheer, stubborn habit, he managed to turn on the shower and wash away the grime of the trail and the sweat of the workout. There was just something incredible about feeling clean after his workout, like he managed to shed his old skin for a fresh one.
Steaming and shivering as the adrenaline finally ebbed, he didn't even bother to dry his hair completely. He stumbled back to his room, set his alarm for exactly twenty minutes, and fell toward the mattress. He was asleep before his head fully hit the pillow. As much as he wanted to just sleep until he woke up naturally, he still had homework that he couldn’t afford to leave for the weekends. After all, those two days were his busiest days every week. 76Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡdIfz4irYlB
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