As you run your circles,
the molten taste of rubber seems to flow
into your mouth,
mixed with the hot, dry air.
You inspire, then expire,
but gain nothing from it.
The body screams it’s discomfort,
but you push on,
making one more circuit.
Then another, then another.
The cycle of running without going
anywhere.
At some point, they stop you and
tell you what score you got.
Maybe from your speed, maybe from your form.
They shove in your hands a paper, tell you that’s what you’ve been working for the entire time,
then push you in a pool.
Nothing is familiar except for the burn in your muscles and
knowing that you know nothing.
Not why you do this, not why you had to run before.
But you start swimming.
You’ll suffocate if you don’t.
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