First Mile, The Liar
The first mile is a liar.
It says no.
It says stop.
It says can’t.
It says why.
It says hurt.
It says ignore all the times you did this, and more.
It says don’t listen to what made you lace up your shoes.
It says heavy.
It says the hill is there to fight you but you’re not strong enough to fight back.
It says you’ll only end up where you started.
It says don’t try.
It says no one’s watching anyway.
It says everyone is faster anyway.
It says to turn around.
It says wouldn’t it be easier if…
Then the second mile comes along and the third and they chip away at the edges. They quiet the first mile by a few decibels. And then the end comes, where the start began, just like the first mile said.
The best lies have grains of truth. All of the first mile’s lies tuck bits of legitimacy into the corners. Nothing the first mile says goes away, on or off the trail. It just comes down to whether the volume is adjustable.
So it’s me and the liar moving down the trail.
Fighting and glaring and grinning and finishing and tripping and moving and giving up and sharing and hating and breathing.
But most of all being.
That is a truth the first mile can’t touch.