Three times further than you’ve ever run in your life. You’re at the final mile of your first ever marathon, and your legs feel like rubber and your heart feels like it’s going to explode out of your chest.
They told you about this. You’ve hit the wall.
It takes everything within you not to collapse. But despite your best efforts, your knees buckle and you fall to the ground.
I didn’t know it at the time, but a madness was slowly growing within me.
It started like the peculiar feeling of a limb regaining feeling after falling asleep.
The only difference was that this was a “limb” I didn’t know I possessed.
The tingling grew into an itch in my consciousness. The itch turned into a vague question. It pulled at me, called me to seek, to reach… for something. I didn’t know what.
The only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones who never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn like roman candles in the night —Jack Kerouac