They are the only things that motivate me. I am the only one who motivates them. 26 long miles with the sun beating down on them and people trotting all day long. 26 that don’t move but move people. 26, taunting me every step of the way. I hear them calling my name on race day, not in my ears, but in my heart.

On the outside they look like asphalt. Beneath lies the sweat and tears of years of work. They get potholes and cracks and still survive all the cars and people, but they never stop calling. This is how they live.

    Let one go unnoticed, they all were meaningless, each one more difficult than the last. Run, run, run they say every day. They preach.
When I am too tired and in too much in pain to keep running, when I am one runner only halfway there, then it is I look at miles. When there is nothing left to hope for in the race. 26 that survived the beating.