She said jogging the straight parts and walking the curves.
I got on the track and my fears started.
I started running and I assured myself that everything was ok.
The moment I started running I got horrible flashbacks.
Of 6th & 8th grade’s track and field event. Remembering that I was always the last one to finish.
It bought back the feeling I’ve learned to forget.
I hated that.
I hated the feeling that running had on me.
Feeling my lungs in my throat, feeling them slowly collapse.
Feeling the weight of my legs crumble before me.
But most of all, most importantly, it felt like my breathing was giving up on me.
Not being able to catch up with everyone. To catch up with my breath.
I hated this. I hate running.
I hate the effect that it has on me.
I hated this.
I hate every time I go to my pulmonologist.
And the fact that every time that I go there my breathing levels are the same.
I hate that stupid breathing test. And when I always disappoint the person administering the test.
I hate climbing only 20 steps and feeling out of breath. Out of control.
I hate when my P.E teacher passes me by on the track and starts being smug.
I hate wheezing when I’m sick.
I hate running.
I hate not being able to conquer it.
I just want my physical education credit.
I hate my asthma.
But it’s a part of me.
It’s what makes me, Me.