Mom visited.
Dad didn’t visit.
I asked Mom about what Emerson had said. Mom said Emerson was right, that Coach Jackson isn’t letting me run in any of the qualifying meets for regionals even if I’m discharged in time. He says it’s a matter of “responsibility” and “health.” That I need to be 100 percent before I run again. That he could be blamed if I get hurt.
I hate that I won’t be able to run anytime soon. I also hate that deep down, I’m relieved. I hate that I’m so tired, inside and out.
I should want to run. I should be visualizing the starting blocks in my head, seeing my arms pump and my legs whirl. I should be ready to slip into my uniform and cleats the second I march out the hospital door.
Should, should, should.
I don’t want to think like this. I have to be a runner. I am a runner.
I’ve lost so much in here. I can’t give up that part of myself, too.
I want to give up that part of myself, though. I want to draw. Maybe I’ll find something else I love even more than drawing.
My head keeps yelling at me.
My heart keeps yelling at me.
My heart is louder today.
Maybe I don’t have to be a runner to be me.