Overachiever

Be the best or be absolutely nothing. Anything in between is a waste of time. My mother once told me this. She was fifty-eight, and Catherine Jenkins was still nothing. She must have made her choice. You can stand in the spotlight, or you can disappear. You can be welcomed with deafening applause, or you can leave without a single person noticing. It is up to you to decide, and some just don’t have it in them to make the choice. They let the world make it for them. That is how people become the one thing I fear the most- average. 

I gazed out the window, my cigarette dangling between my lips. Five more drags. That’s what I told myself. Once I was done, I stamped it out on the dirty window sill before flicking it into the yard below. I walked over to my closet, as I pulled out jeans that were much too small and a tank top that squeezed my ribs. As I pulled them on, I checked the time. 4:29 AM. I was running behind schedule. 

My mother is passed out on the couch when I walk into the kitchen. “Toddlers and Tiaras” is still playing from the night before, and the empty bottle of wine on the table indicates she drank herself to sleep. Shocker. 

I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror before leaving. My eyes were dark, and my hair was thinner. This was a sign of improvement. My body was a mess of muscle and fat. I hated it.

I pull on my sneakers before sneaking out the door. I didn’t want to wake her, so she could ask where I was going wearing jeans at 4:30 AM. She once asked me why I insisted on wearing them when they clearly didn’t fit. The answer was obvious, was it not? It reminded me of the end goal. It was my motivation. Once they did fit, I had reached one goal. The next would be to make them too large for my body. Clearly, there was only one way to do this.

My Garmin was latched tightly around my wrist. I hit the start button. I was going to run five miles. This was my first run of the day. I would go again at 12PM, and then again at 8PM. I set off for a quiet path that looped through the woods on the outskirts of the neighborhood. It was peaceful, and there were no distractions to interrupt my training. I began to jog. Then run. And then sprint. The air felt cool on my skin, and a shiver ran up my spine. It was still dark outside, and the trees swayed in the wind. The only noises cutting through the early morning silence were the rustling of leaves and the gravel crunching beneath the soles of my shoes. 

One step after another. 0.04. 

Two steps. 0.08.

Three steps. 0.12

A quarter of a mile was approximately 25. One mile was about 100. That was equivalent to about a tablespoon of peanut butter. That was not enough.

My heart slammed in my chest, as I moved my legs faster and faster. My hair whips around, and my breath feels like it is leaving my lungs faster and faster with each step. 0.04. 

When I was younger, anytime I ever got tired while running and considered just taking a break for a few moments, I pictured zombies chasing after me. If they caught me, they would eat my brain or turn me into one of them. The only way to avoid this was to keep and run faster. Now, when I need some motivation, I picture my fat little thirteen-year-old self. If she catches me, all of my progress will be gone. I will not be the best. I will be a big, fat nothing. Just like she was. 

I check my Garmin. Half of a mile. About 50. That was equivalent to about 50 blueberries. Or 15 grapes. Or 2 bites of chocolate cake. That’s what a nutritionist online said anyway. 

The world around me moves with me, as I push myself to move faster and faster. My head is pounding, and the rubbing of the tight jeans on my skin burns. The tank top is suffocating me more than usual. 

Be the best or be nothing.

My skin is sleek with sweat, and strands of hair are sticking to my face. I feel a trickle of sweat slide down my neck. 

Be the best or be nothing.

My legs ache, and I feel like I’m running with the weight of the world on my shoulder. I feel like that fat little thirteen-year-old is latching onto my back, yelling at me to outrun the zombies. I shake her off, and she falls to the ground.

Be the best or be nothing.

Running is supposed to feel free, but I feel like I’m stuck on an impossible staircase. It only ever leads upward, with no real destination. I feel like I’m suffocating. My body is trapped underwater. My limbs begin to shake and spasm. 

Callie? Callie, can you hear us? The line is ‘I came all the way here, Mr. Ford. Please, just hear me out.’ Callie? Are- are you okay?

My body begins to slow. My vision clouds. My hands tremble. 

You fainted, Callie. Are you alright?

Just keep going. One step. 0.04. Two steps. 0.08. Three steps. 0.12. 

You really scared us. We were worried. Are you feeling sick? Have you eaten anything today?

My feet stick to the ground, and I collapse. 

Here, this should help. Have some pretzels. 

My head bangs into the sharp rocks, and I lose all control.

Serving size is 110. One mile and change. 

My arms and legs spasm and my chest shakes. My clothes are suffocating me, and my vision is blurred with black. I can’t get up.

Be the best. 

And nobody knows I’m here. Nobody is coming to save me.

Or be nothing.