Asclepius - Runner's High
Asclepius runs, continue to run as he has been doing for some time now. Feet slapping payment, legs burning and his heart beating almost double-time, he pushes on in his run. His body burns with a warmth that seems to push away the cold, and the passing air is his only relief.
Keep going, he says to himself. Got to keep going. The temptation is there to call upon his magic, to make it easier or even to put on more speed. It would be so easy. Can't do it, won't do it, gotta do more, gotta be more. Asclepius knew he wasn't the best athlete; the nasty wasting disease from his old teacher still made it hard on him. He trained though, trained to a degree that would surprise some people who knew him, and had managed to qualify for the Marathon. Just barely, but he had qualified.
His eyes trail over to the woman running beside him, and it's an effort of will to keep from turning with his vision, from stopping or from just falling. She had qualified easier than he, but she was younger and healthier. And, he thinks with a little grin as he continues to move, she's certainly got a better body. Asclepius tries to focus on the road, but the blood is dancing through him making him feel so painfully alive and strengthening any number of urges.
The adrenaline was flowing, and Asclepius drinks it in, revelling in the glorious pain. The burn is awful, and he will pay for this tomorrow and perhaps for a little longer, but it will be worth it. He will finish this year, will complete the run and know the achievement. Then, next year, next year he will beat his time. He knows this, knows you have to keep pushing yourself, refining yourself. The fires of challenge burn away failure, doubt, fear, they cleanse the soul and to overcome them is to become more for the struggle. He takes the daily horrors seen in Dudleytown, the vicious wounds he helped to treat and the agony of others' loss and throws them into the consuming pain until he is just running, knowing he needs to finish.
He couldn't explain to anyone just why he had to run, not wanted to but had to now, but it was just right. This helps to calm something Asclepius hadn't even know was there, something that had been twisting and roiling inside of him since Selena was killed. Doing this just feels right, had since he came up with the idea before. He won't win; likely he'd take longer than most, but he would finish.
It would be so easy to use magic, but Rhonda running beside him would know. And more, he would know. To use magic would be to admit defeat, to admit failure and to surrender. That was not acceptable, that would never be acceptible. "No compromise, never, never anything but the most," he manages to growl out.
Rhonda being there helps to push him on. Knowing she was there, running with him, that she believed he could. There was strength in that, and Asclepius drops into a short trot to regain some energy and breath before he picks up his speed again.
The finish was somewhere ahead. He would make it. One foot in front of the other, one step at a time, until he reached the end.
Keep going, he says to himself. Got to keep going. The temptation is there to call upon his magic, to make it easier or even to put on more speed. It would be so easy. Can't do it, won't do it, gotta do more, gotta be more. Asclepius knew he wasn't the best athlete; the nasty wasting disease from his old teacher still made it hard on him. He trained though, trained to a degree that would surprise some people who knew him, and had managed to qualify for the Marathon. Just barely, but he had qualified.
His eyes trail over to the woman running beside him, and it's an effort of will to keep from turning with his vision, from stopping or from just falling. She had qualified easier than he, but she was younger and healthier. And, he thinks with a little grin as he continues to move, she's certainly got a better body. Asclepius tries to focus on the road, but the blood is dancing through him making him feel so painfully alive and strengthening any number of urges.
The adrenaline was flowing, and Asclepius drinks it in, revelling in the glorious pain. The burn is awful, and he will pay for this tomorrow and perhaps for a little longer, but it will be worth it. He will finish this year, will complete the run and know the achievement. Then, next year, next year he will beat his time. He knows this, knows you have to keep pushing yourself, refining yourself. The fires of challenge burn away failure, doubt, fear, they cleanse the soul and to overcome them is to become more for the struggle. He takes the daily horrors seen in Dudleytown, the vicious wounds he helped to treat and the agony of others' loss and throws them into the consuming pain until he is just running, knowing he needs to finish.
He couldn't explain to anyone just why he had to run, not wanted to but had to now, but it was just right. This helps to calm something Asclepius hadn't even know was there, something that had been twisting and roiling inside of him since Selena was killed. Doing this just feels right, had since he came up with the idea before. He won't win; likely he'd take longer than most, but he would finish.
It would be so easy to use magic, but Rhonda running beside him would know. And more, he would know. To use magic would be to admit defeat, to admit failure and to surrender. That was not acceptable, that would never be acceptible. "No compromise, never, never anything but the most," he manages to growl out.
Rhonda being there helps to push him on. Knowing she was there, running with him, that she believed he could. There was strength in that, and Asclepius drops into a short trot to regain some energy and breath before he picks up his speed again.
The finish was somewhere ahead. He would make it. One foot in front of the other, one step at a time, until he reached the end.