The sun was barely beginning to crest the eastern hills as Jeff Longlegs crossed the first kilometer marker. The night’s frost crunched beneath his feet, giving way to the cold, soft earth below. "Man, I'm hungry," Jeff thinks to himself, longing for that big bowl of oatmeal waiting for him at his dorm.

This is his routine. He has it memorized like the passage of an inspirational novel. But today, it feels different. Each step takes more effort than usual. He feels like something is sitting on his shoulders, weighing him down.

"Hey, hey, hey. Not the hair."

Two kilometers in, he replays yesterday's big meet in his mind. He pictures himself back at the starting line, the breeze rustling his shorts. Then, he pictures himself at the finish line, throwing his singlet to the ground in disappointment. 

A thousand thoughts spin through his head about his next meet...and worse, the entire fate of his career in NCAA cross-country. (Jeff is a bit of a worrier. Okay, an extremely excessive worrier, actually. It's in his nature.) He asks himself: Will I ever learn to be the rabbit? Will I be the negative splitter? Or will I just be a loser?

At the post-meet dinner that night, Jeff had sat hunched over his pasta. His loss weighed heavily on him then. While his teammates joked and bantered like usual, he mostly hung his head and shoveled food into his face. Jeff's friends care about him a lot, so of course they tried to nudge him out of his disappointment.

"You'll get 'em next time."

"Yeah," he had murmured, forcing an uneven smile. "I know."

But will I? Jeff mused, placing one foot after another on the trail. He had been trying to limit his mileage to prepare for next week’s conference championships, but he couldn’t help himself: he had to get out there today. He had to sweat out the bad juju. He had to reset his head after his loss and feel the fun in running again.

If only he can run his best at the conference championships next week, nationals will be a real possibility for Jeff. And it's always been in his Longlegs nature to keep pushing. He's not only a worrier, but also a pusher. 

Hands and legs moving rhythmically, he thinks about his parents, who will be driving up to attend the conference championships. They always told him that he had a gift. "You're a Longlegs," his Dad once said. "A Longlegs through and through. I wish your Granddad could be here to see you now. He would be proud."

Grandaddy Longlegs. May he rest in peace. (Source)

In his other ear, Jeff hears the voice of Coach Grinder echoing. "You have more drive than anyone I've ever coached. It's one thing to have the natural ability, but you also have the drive. That's important." Coach had smiled and slapped him on the shoulder.

"You can be good, Longlegs. But you have to maintain focus and discipline."

Jeff realizes that his teammate and longtime friend, Harlow, won't be at practice this afternoon. Har pulled a quad in practice several weeks ago and he hasn't run since. What a bummer...for both Jeff and Har.

Jeff's strides quicken at the thought. He doesn't even want to consider what it'd be like to be forced to rest. To be out of the game for a while, let alone forever.

Visions of yesterday's race keep swimming in his mind, along with the voices of his Dad, his coach, and his friend Har. But as his pace quickens and quickens, it's almost as if someone turns down the volume on all these voices with a TV remote. The voices fade into the background. Jeff's heartbeat seems to synchronize with the beat of his shoes against the dirt trail.

The heavy weight he felt this morning starts to lift from his shoulders as Jeff remembers how much he loves to run. 

Oh, yes. Baby, he was born to run.