Gazelle

Man, could I run. Dad was quick too, ran the mile in 4.32 when he was 13. No training at all. The track coaches were all over him until he took up power lifting instead. "Why didn't you run, dad?" I'd pester him as a kid. "You were so fast!" He'd shake his head, and keep moving lumber off his planer to stack in neat rows. "It wasn't anything special, I could just run forever and never get tired. And I was tired of being so damn skinny."

I knew the feeling. Tall for my age and lanky as hell, I ate up ground like my feet were starving. My hair was long and I let it blow out behind me like a cape. Didn't ever look over my shoulder, just knew I was in front of the world, flying.

One morning I woke up gasping for breath. I thought it was a nightmare and waited for my heart to slow down. Walked downstairs and nearly passed out. We drove to the hospital a few hours later and took the elevator for the first time.

Of course I wasn't thinking about anything besides what the hell was wrong with me. Bad cold maybe, asthma, worst case. But congestive heart failure? At 10?