"But her husband had never been thrown across a room, or kicked, or slammed headfirst into a door. No one has ever spoken to him as her father has spoken to Frank. He did not understand what it was to be helpless and alone. No one should be alone in this world. Everyone should have someone who kept faith, no matter what, all the way."
-"The Night in Question" by Tobias Wolff

It's a typical track. Red with its edges ripping from the overzealous racers and scorching sun. My breath comes in short spurts and my movements feel as though I'm not moving at all. A girl with a long pony tail catches up to me. Her bra straps are about to slip off her shoulders. She should be wearing a sports bra, but at least she's smart enough to wear a tank and shorts. Her jogging needs to be improved upon though. Her elbows stick out and her body isn't attuned to her legs. She passes me in her awkward haste. I look around, she isn't here with anyone. Who is she trying to impress?

The next jogger is sweating, it pools at the nape of his grey shirt. He's pale like toothpaste; it must be his first time outdoors in months. I can tell from his face that he thinks that if he can continue jogging like this, he can get into shape. The way he listens intently to his headphones, you can tell that he desires to become someone else.

Then there's the stereotypical jacked-up jock, the one with the ripped washboard abs and soccer shorts barely hanging on his bottom. He's around my height, good eye-candy, and he knows it. As I turn the corner, he looks my way, but I keep my head trained on jogging. When he gets on the track again, his back to me, I blatantly stare. It's alluring and yet disturbing how his shorts cling to his bottom when the top of his glutes gleam above them. The sun is beating against my eye lids and I blink as I stare, my footsteps match the pounding in my head. The ice cream truck's melody fills the area as it passes. It's torture. I stare at his shorts, sure that it'll slip at any second, but he keeps his steady pace and his shorts stay intact. Sweat licks at my neck and I feel my legs wobble with heaviness. My throat is parched; it's difficult to swallow.