The ability of the human mind to deny reality, particularly when it's a reality that one wishes to be untrue, is amazing. Not long after the spirit of Norm had left, Ironbird was quite convinced he had dreamt the whole affair. His pounding heart began to settle, his mind drifted to other thoughts, and before long his eyes were heavy and he drifted off to sleep.
The church bell in the square struck an unusually loud toll at the one o'clock hour, and Ironbird found himself bolting upright in his bed. Immediately the words of the apparition came back to him, as well as the panic that gripped him earlier. Did he dream it? Did it really happen? Would there be another ghostly visitor?
Desperately Ironbird's eyes scoured every dimly lit corner of his room, searching for the minutest motion that might betray an unwelcome guest. To his great relief, and despite his most earnest efforts, his search found nothing. A deep sigh betrayed how his terrified chest had held its breath, and only now released with a great gush.
Laying back, Ironbird was just about to drift off again when he was struck with the urge to look out the window. Why hadn't he done so in the first place? Perhaps the visitor was out there!
Jumping from his bed, Ironbird dashed to the window and looked out. Moonlight cascaded down to the streets below, bright, enough so dappled light shone between shadows cast by the taller buildings. Here and there the streets could be seen, streets that were by now empty. Suddenly, almost imperceptibly, a small figure appeared. It seemed to be a man, perhaps in his thirties, slight built, running along the streets in a forward-foot stride, on the balls of his feet, and with a light carriage. The most unusual aspect of the gait was the circumduction; the runner's right forearm rotated counter-clockwise while he ran, which contributed to the slight left-and-right rocking action of his body as he ran.
The whole thing seemed familiar to Ironbird, especially the circumduction... where had he seen it before? So engrossed was he in this line of thinking he completely forgot about the expected visitor. Ironbird watched as the runner moved in and out of the moonlight, until suddenly, in the very next space of moonlight, the runner was gone.
Odd, thought Ironbird. After waiting a moment more he gave up on the search and turned to go back to bed. His fright was immense when, upon turning around, he saw the runner standing right behind him. Now he had a better view of the character. He was slight (as mentioned before), perhaps 5' 9", 135 lbs., dark hair, glasses, and though it was winter was dressed only in a singlet, shorts, and Nike running shoes. There was something decidedly retro in the clothes, something Ironbird caught almost subconsciously. The singlet was all-cotton, as were the shorts. The shoes were a brand he hadn't seen in years.
Who was this guy?
"I am the ghost of training partners past", said the visitor at last. "I am here to show you the joy you once knew as a runner."
"I have joy in it now," said Ironbird, "the joy of knowing it's done for the day!" It was a typically flippant thing to say, done more to sustain the illusion he wasn't afraid than anything else.
"Touch my singlet. There are things I would show you!" commanded the spirit. Wishing the whole episode to be over as quickly as possible, or perhaps even to convince himself the spirit really was there, Ironbird reached tentatively out and lightly grasped the singlet.
In an instant they were back on the street, running along paths and trails as effortlessly as young deer in the mid-summer days of plenty. The wind blew through his scant hair, the smells of the city and country blending into so many memories. It was so intoxicating some time passed before Ironbird realized he felt no pain at all even though he was running much faster than he'd gone in decades.
Soon they came to a wood that ringed the northern edge of his town. "Do you remember this place?" asked the spirit. "Of course I do!" remarked Ironbird, "I ran here many times in the early days!" The ghost continued, "Look then, at the runners gathering. Do you remember?"
Ironbird blinked incredulously. There, under the spreading oaks and chestnuts of the forest, a group of people began unloading supplies from their vehicles onto picnic tables. There were drinks, water mostly, with some Gatorade here and there. There were sodas, cookies, and the old standby, Fig Newtons. Ironbird laughed at the prehistoric energy food, but it wasn't a sardonic laugh; it was a laugh partnered with the misty eyes of powerful nostalgia.
"I... I remember this run. This was one of our weekly fun-runs. We used to take turns hosting a run, always at a different place, and the host would bring food and drink. We would work out and fellowship afterward. It was so great... so great."
The ghost urged him on. "Tell me more."
"On this run, the rain had been heavy the week before. We were supposed to run on the trails, but being the goofballs we were, things soon got out of hand. The guys started to race, and as the trails were too narrow to allow passing, everyone soon jumped off the trails and ran Indian-style through the woods. Of course the rain-soaked ground began to grab at shoes and feet, adding to the adventure. I can only imagine what any hiker in the woods at that time would have thought - 30 wild men running pell-mell through the trees!"
"Huh. Sounds like a waste of time. Better to spend one's life being as good as one can be and minding one's own business." Ironbird did not miss the reference to his earlier encounter with the previous spirit, and the words stung him bitterly.
The spirit bade him to grab his singlet, and off again they whisked, this time to another park on the east side of town. It was dark, and there were three figures running on a grassy area just off a creek. Looking closely, Ironbird could see it was a golf course, and the three were doing repeats at high speed. Instantly Ironbird recognized the tall runner as Ingersol, the short one was Miller. A younger Ironbird was the third.
"I remember this. On hot summer days we couldn't do these workouts, so we waited until after dark. We used to run our intervals on the grass to help the legs recover. Those two guys were like brothers to me. Those summers we spent together were some of the happiest running days of my life."
"What made it so special?"
"There was a simplicity to it, something so elegant. There was pain, there was always pain, but we were learning how to manage the pain, pushing ourselves farther and farther into it. Ingersol used to always berate Miller for not taking enough! There was also the elation of running, feeling the power ooze from your legs onto the surface below you, the pulse of every step propelling you forward... I felt strong, in control, and filled with the sure confidence I could get better, I WOULD get better..."
"You had hope?"
"I never thought of it that way, but, yeah. Take me home, spirit. Suddenly this pains me too much to see anymore." With that, Ironbird grabbed the singlet and was transported back to his room. With a start he sat upright in his bed as if awakened from a dream. Was it a dream? Had this too happened?
The church bell in the square struck an unusually loud toll at the one o'clock hour, and Ironbird found himself bolting upright in his bed. Immediately the words of the apparition came back to him, as well as the panic that gripped him earlier. Did he dream it? Did it really happen? Would there be another ghostly visitor?
Desperately Ironbird's eyes scoured every dimly lit corner of his room, searching for the minutest motion that might betray an unwelcome guest. To his great relief, and despite his most earnest efforts, his search found nothing. A deep sigh betrayed how his terrified chest had held its breath, and only now released with a great gush.
Laying back, Ironbird was just about to drift off again when he was struck with the urge to look out the window. Why hadn't he done so in the first place? Perhaps the visitor was out there!
Jumping from his bed, Ironbird dashed to the window and looked out. Moonlight cascaded down to the streets below, bright, enough so dappled light shone between shadows cast by the taller buildings. Here and there the streets could be seen, streets that were by now empty. Suddenly, almost imperceptibly, a small figure appeared. It seemed to be a man, perhaps in his thirties, slight built, running along the streets in a forward-foot stride, on the balls of his feet, and with a light carriage. The most unusual aspect of the gait was the circumduction; the runner's right forearm rotated counter-clockwise while he ran, which contributed to the slight left-and-right rocking action of his body as he ran.
The whole thing seemed familiar to Ironbird, especially the circumduction... where had he seen it before? So engrossed was he in this line of thinking he completely forgot about the expected visitor. Ironbird watched as the runner moved in and out of the moonlight, until suddenly, in the very next space of moonlight, the runner was gone.
Odd, thought Ironbird. After waiting a moment more he gave up on the search and turned to go back to bed. His fright was immense when, upon turning around, he saw the runner standing right behind him. Now he had a better view of the character. He was slight (as mentioned before), perhaps 5' 9", 135 lbs., dark hair, glasses, and though it was winter was dressed only in a singlet, shorts, and Nike running shoes. There was something decidedly retro in the clothes, something Ironbird caught almost subconsciously. The singlet was all-cotton, as were the shorts. The shoes were a brand he hadn't seen in years.
Who was this guy?
"I am the ghost of training partners past", said the visitor at last. "I am here to show you the joy you once knew as a runner."
"I have joy in it now," said Ironbird, "the joy of knowing it's done for the day!" It was a typically flippant thing to say, done more to sustain the illusion he wasn't afraid than anything else.
"Touch my singlet. There are things I would show you!" commanded the spirit. Wishing the whole episode to be over as quickly as possible, or perhaps even to convince himself the spirit really was there, Ironbird reached tentatively out and lightly grasped the singlet.
In an instant they were back on the street, running along paths and trails as effortlessly as young deer in the mid-summer days of plenty. The wind blew through his scant hair, the smells of the city and country blending into so many memories. It was so intoxicating some time passed before Ironbird realized he felt no pain at all even though he was running much faster than he'd gone in decades.
Soon they came to a wood that ringed the northern edge of his town. "Do you remember this place?" asked the spirit. "Of course I do!" remarked Ironbird, "I ran here many times in the early days!" The ghost continued, "Look then, at the runners gathering. Do you remember?"
Ironbird blinked incredulously. There, under the spreading oaks and chestnuts of the forest, a group of people began unloading supplies from their vehicles onto picnic tables. There were drinks, water mostly, with some Gatorade here and there. There were sodas, cookies, and the old standby, Fig Newtons. Ironbird laughed at the prehistoric energy food, but it wasn't a sardonic laugh; it was a laugh partnered with the misty eyes of powerful nostalgia.
"I... I remember this run. This was one of our weekly fun-runs. We used to take turns hosting a run, always at a different place, and the host would bring food and drink. We would work out and fellowship afterward. It was so great... so great."
The ghost urged him on. "Tell me more."
"On this run, the rain had been heavy the week before. We were supposed to run on the trails, but being the goofballs we were, things soon got out of hand. The guys started to race, and as the trails were too narrow to allow passing, everyone soon jumped off the trails and ran Indian-style through the woods. Of course the rain-soaked ground began to grab at shoes and feet, adding to the adventure. I can only imagine what any hiker in the woods at that time would have thought - 30 wild men running pell-mell through the trees!"
"Huh. Sounds like a waste of time. Better to spend one's life being as good as one can be and minding one's own business." Ironbird did not miss the reference to his earlier encounter with the previous spirit, and the words stung him bitterly.
The spirit bade him to grab his singlet, and off again they whisked, this time to another park on the east side of town. It was dark, and there were three figures running on a grassy area just off a creek. Looking closely, Ironbird could see it was a golf course, and the three were doing repeats at high speed. Instantly Ironbird recognized the tall runner as Ingersol, the short one was Miller. A younger Ironbird was the third.
"I remember this. On hot summer days we couldn't do these workouts, so we waited until after dark. We used to run our intervals on the grass to help the legs recover. Those two guys were like brothers to me. Those summers we spent together were some of the happiest running days of my life."
"What made it so special?"
"There was a simplicity to it, something so elegant. There was pain, there was always pain, but we were learning how to manage the pain, pushing ourselves farther and farther into it. Ingersol used to always berate Miller for not taking enough! There was also the elation of running, feeling the power ooze from your legs onto the surface below you, the pulse of every step propelling you forward... I felt strong, in control, and filled with the sure confidence I could get better, I WOULD get better..."
"You had hope?"
"I never thought of it that way, but, yeah. Take me home, spirit. Suddenly this pains me too much to see anymore." With that, Ironbird grabbed the singlet and was transported back to his room. With a start he sat upright in his bed as if awakened from a dream. Was it a dream? Had this too happened?
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