Fiery Sweat

>You stop, catching your breath, legs burning and lungs burning just as hard.
>You had decided to try to get into running, and it had been proving difficult so far.
>Getting the gumption to actually get up in the early hours of the morning, step out the door no matter what the temperature or weather, and run until your legs felt like jelly was hard to come by.
>That and it was a little boring.
>You’d tried listening to music, but the beat kept causing you to run faster or slower depending on the song, and you would get tired too quickly as a result, so you’d opted to trying listening to audiobooks.
>You couldn’t concentrate on the audiobook, and frequently missed plot points and other important information, so that was out as well.
>You’d then started listening to podcasts, but finding podcasts you liked was more of a chore than you enjoyed, so you’d started running with nothing at all.
>But that meant it was boring.
>You stared at trees, flowers, bushes, grass, and other people, but all those things were only so exciting.
>Over the last couple days, you’d had a hell of a time getting out of bed and wanting to run.
>You’d gotten up later and later and made excuses to stop running before you’d made it the whole path around the park.
>Today was probably going to be one of those days.
>You’d made it to the halfway point and you were tired as fuck. Legs burned, lungs burned, and feet burned.
>You were covered in sweat, and it was even a brisk autumn day. You were tired, and you just wanted to quit.
>You held your hands on your knees and breathed, staring at the ground, thinking about how nice it would be to turn and go home.

>That was when you felt a slap on your back and you staggered.
> “C’mon, rookie! You can do it!” someone said.
>You lifted your head to look up, and there was someone jogging in place next to you.
>The person was dressed in sweats, covered from neck to toe. They had a shock of short orange hair swept backward, and sunglasses on, even though the sun was barely rising.
>You just panted and gave them a nod.
>”First time trying to jog?”
>You shake your head, breathing in and out hard.
> “Well you’re breathin’ like it. You still plannin’ on running some more? You can join me if you want. I’ve been doing this for years.”
“You’re not… *gasp* gonna leave me behind and laugh, are you?”
>”Nah. I’m genuinely trying to help, rookie. You in?”
>You look back toward the path you’d be taking home. It passed by a McDonald’s that you usually bought McFlurry’s from.
>You didn’t need another McFlurry.
>You nod.
“Yeah, okay.”
>You pull yourself up and start jogging. The person who had stopped easily lurches into step with you, even though you’re stumbling along at what must be much slower than he was used to.
>”How long you been running for?”
“Maybe *huff* two weeks.”
>”Not long at all. My name’s Spitfire.”
“Spit—*haaah*—fire? Like the plane?”
>The guy was easily pacing you, following along beside while he chatted easily. He was skinny, but looked fit, even under those frumpy sweats he was wearing.
>”Yeah, I guess. I think most people call me that because I spit fire when talking to them.”
“Ah. That’s *Huff* pretty funny.”
>”Yeah, I agree. S’why I let them keep doing it instead of biting their heads off.”
“Hah… haha…”
>You run alongside Spitfire for a little longer, until he stops you.
>”Hey, dude. You need to fix your posture. You’re running like you’re dying.”
“I feel like I’m dying.”

>”Nah, keep your posture up. You’ll do more harm than good if you flop about like that for long periods of time.”
>He proceeded to instruct you on how to hold yourself as you ran.
>He was polite about it, but firm.
>You suspected he was an instructor of some sort, as he talked as though he expected to be listened to and would brook no insolence.
>No wonder everyone called him Spitfire.
>He wasn’t spitting fire at you, but he didn’t really give room for interruption.
>Fortunately, by the time you reached the end of your usual path, you were feeling much less exhausted than you usually did.
>You were still dog-tired, but you weren’t dying nearly as hard as before.
“This… *gasp* is where I usually stop.”
>”Only here, eh? You really are a rookie. But I’m glad you kept trying. You looked done back where I found you.”
>You gulp in air, your lungs burning, and nod.
“I was about done with it, yeah.”
>Spitfire shook his head.
>”Don’t let that stop you, dude. You can do much better, and you can probably make it further than this.”
>He looks at you, tilting his head, then nods.
>”Tell you what, if you think you can get yourself out of bed every morning, I come down these paths every day at 5:00am. Meet me where we met then, and I’ll jog with you.”
“Not gonna charge me for lessons, are you?”
>”Hah! Nah. Like I said, I run here anyway, so it’ll be like running by myself, only with a tagalong.”
“I will try.”
>”Do, or do not, mate. See you again, I hope.” He winks, and jogs off.”