It couldn't have been more than thirty minutes into the race, and they were nowhere in sight. I always avoided taking the same path twice. Cold, steady rain soaked my hoodie, adding a couple of extra pounds to the load already secured around my body. The hoodie was gifted to me by an elderly man three scores and ten my age as a symbolic representation for being “the coldest”. 

All my life I wanted to get out, but I was revered, not by who I was but by what I could do. I tried to get on my feet, but my legs felt heavy and shackled. Everything went quiet as I stared into the overcast sky. I squinted with each raindrop that touched my face wondering if I was making the right decision. 

 This would be my fourteenth straight win if I mustered up enough courage to overcome my aches and pain. But it surely was not my body alone holding me back; it was the current state of where I was from. Everyone was counting on me, little ol’ Walker to do the usual, win. If I did the opposite, I was criticized, scrutinized, and condemned. On the inside, it infuriated me, but I acted as if I was unbothered. There were no vacancies for me to be sorry for myself; I had to suck it up and keep it moving. An image appeared in front of me that kept flickering in and out of focus: an enormous uproar of red flames. I jumped to my feet immediately to get a better look. And there I stood, awakening by the repercussions of a planet subjugated by global warming. Remnants of despair fogged my glasses and smoked my garments. I must get to the finish line, I thought to myself.   

Nonetheless, It was the feeling that had me ten toes down as I was striding past the blaze. The fire ran wild. Burning leaves cut across my pathway and stuffed my nose. Both acrid and sweet, the fumes in the air evoked the quality of every relationship I encountered on planet earth. People, places, seasons, short sunny days, long starry nights, naked trees, and a glass of wine. Not to say I didn’t have my ups and downs. I was so much younger then, younger than what everyone expected me to be. Sparks traced my footsteps away into the darkness as I escaped. They say the past is somewhere we shall never return to, but the memories composed by those potent and pervasive flames assailed me in ways I cannot evade. But boy was I stubborn, evading is what I attempted to do, moving as fast as my legs could carry me. I had to win. I was built for this; I reassured myself as I caught my second wind. I approached a body of water that stretched out beyond my peripheral vision into forever. The water reflected the moon, which took it upon itself to be a light onto my path. Now images formed in the murky water. Planet earth appeared but not how it currently looked. This Earth was covered by ninety percent water and the other ten percent in flames. 

Enraged by such a downfall, I ran across the water as fast as possible, breaking up the vision and crossing the finishing line. Exhaustion overtook my body while the drone hovered above, capturing my triumph, for all the planets to see. So that was me, the victor, waiting for the rest of the field to arrive. I have seen a great many runners in the same place I found myself in that day, champions, feeling stranded and left exposed before all the elements of the universe, and I have witnessed how some walk in dormancy while others detonate in shock, how some faint for a few seconds and the rest move with an incredible attentiveness, consuming only the moment that stood before them. On the contrary, I was lost in the past, but I did not stay there. The yellow tinge of the sun would be bouncing off the trees shortly. My thoughts settled, and there was only now the shallow and metrical whining of the insects surviving the night. Yuri strolled in second, Zenith third, and Xelam stumbled across the river placing fourth. When Xelam looked up at me, I saw the tears streaking down his cheek. All four of us knew the outcome. Another month-long sentence for each of our planets to endure the temperatures we achieved, until the next race. It was now fifty-one degrees on planet earth. As the winner, my planet’s temperature dropped one degree Fahrenheit. However, the other three planets temperature went up by one, two, and three degrees. Hence, why the old man nicknamed me “the coldest." And under the bright moon when it mattered the most, I represented planet earth, I ran for planet earth, I was planet earth. 

 I was sixteen by then. I was a meager teenage boy for sixteen, but no special treatment was made. Even though I was small, I had the heart of a lion. I worked like a man. Each morning I woke up at six-thirty to train except for on Sundays. Momma always said Sundays were for rest, family, and meditation. I washed all the linens. I took out the trash in the morning and made sure all the doors in our house were locked in the evening. I made sure my baby sister Khadia did her homework and had lunch money for school. Khadia was two years my junior but so much brighter than I. I took care of Khadia and me after Momma was gone. We were having dinner one evening, and just as I was leaving the table, she turned to me and uttered in a broken mumble, “I—I miss—I miss Momma. Everything is just different. I think you should know why I’ve not been doing well at school lately,” said Khad as she stopped briefly and looked over at the mantel that held a portrait of all three of us. 

“Momma was a beautiful woman with an amazing soul. I love and miss her so much. She had the kindest heart. I can’t imagine going through life without her,” said Khadia.

 That night I stayed up later than usual, staring at the ceiling, thinking about my sister’s words. I added her words to the collection of great things people would say about Momma. Loyal, kind, respectful, caring, thoughtful, beautiful, unique. A collection that molded a masterpiece far beyond what I could articulate. 

And what about my father? Where did he fit in the picture? Well, we both knew who he was because Momma made it no secret. You could bet Momma would pull out old polaroid pictures of her and my father as teenagers at least once a year. 

“Walker, you have your daddy’s lips," she would say as she scanned the memories and passed each picture to us. What I saw in him was what boys couldn’t help but see in their fathers—a blueprint in which their virility might be replicated. And knowing this, it was instinctive that I saw an insignia of who I would be in him. 

“He always wanted to help others. He was a generous man,” said Momma as she stared deep into my eyes. I was a replica, I possessed his values, and Momma knew it. He disappeared when Momma was pregnant with Khadia and never returned. Not one soul knew if he was murdered, captured, alive, or committed suicide. All we knew is that he was absent. I stayed up all night, reliving every moment that included Momma and those that yearned for my father's presence. 

I watched as the silhouette of the sun tattooed itself onto my bedroom wall. With each passing minute, the image crept up the wall onto the ceiling. Khadia’s alarm sounded as the sun rose with authority. It was six-thirty, and the night disappeared along with my opportunity to get some rest. Nonetheless, it gave me perspective in exchange, as I used the time to reflect. 

“It’s a little cooler outside today Walker. Did you win again!?” said Khadia as her voice fought against the shower.

“Yuh!” I responded, matching her effort.

I sat up in my bed for a bit, then shortly after I was on my back, but sleep would not present itself. I grabbed my tracksuit from the closet, threw it on, and walked out the back door, out into the sunrise, down to the sidewalk, and through the refreshing fall air. There I was able to see if Khadia’s school bus was approaching. It used to be my school bus, but since Momma passed, I never returned to school. School was not for me. It didn’t teach me about real life. Momma was the only reason I went to that place. She was old school and believed that school was the only path to becoming successful. 

 The time was approaching for me to begin my daily morning run. I trained hard, and I did it frequently. Listen, I ran for my health, but I also ran to save Earth and its inhabitants. Momma would always say, “If your dreams only include you, Walker, it’s too small.” 

Well, global warming was so much bigger than I was. So I dedicated my life to saving a planet that didn’t want to save itself. I wondered what Momma would think of that. Momma never gave me advice for such a situation; maybe she would’ve done so as I matured or perhaps not, who knows.

“Come on, Khadia, you do this every morning!” I snapped. Shortly after, Khadia walked out of the house just as her school bus turned on to our street, her dark chocolate skin glowed and glistened as the sun reflected from her visage. A mustard knit sweater complimented her beauty. I mean, Momma took years teaching Khadia to love her complexion, instilling in her that she was a queen and that her black skin was beautiful. Khadia always wanted to be bright skinned like her friend Ronnie who was waving from the bus as I hugged her before sending her off. But I’m delighted that Momma’s counsel shifted her perspective. She was happy in her skin, and it showed by the beautiful smile she flashed whenever her image reflected in the mirror. 

The school bus slowly drifted away like a curtain, exposing the horizon. The sun played peek-a-boo behind the few clouds in the sky while the trees stood firmly without flinching. I slowly inhaled the odor of the Earth and consumed the sounds that bounced through the atmosphere. Shortly after, they became futile; my sense of sight demanded my undivided attention. I saw it all from where I stood, so many people. And amongst everything, one thing stood out to me like a rose growing from the concrete. It was my mentor, Mr. Lennox holding a sign that read Running with The Coldest, intimately followed by men and women from all cultures, races, and nationalities. I looked for a moment, not understanding. All eyes in the formation focused in my direction; what I saw in them encompassed infatuation for how I made them feel at the moment, undeniably deserved, and appreciation for the burden I took upon myself. Unable to decipher the fake from true love, I responded with a slight wave tailored to both audiences. 

“They would like to run with you today, champ,” said Mr. Lennox with an enthusiastic flare.

“That’s cool,” I said after a slight pause.

“The coldest,” said a familiar voice amidst the crowd. 

“This kid is the coldest I tell ya!”I walked over to the source of exaltation. And against the light of the sun outlined an average-sized man about three scores and ten my age. He embraced me as if we were kin, knowing me before I knew myself. We stood there, looking at each other, looking around at the crowd, searching for some inkling, delaying, anticipating, that someone knew more than we did. 

“Not everyone will appreciate you for you, young man,” he whispered in my ear before I made my way back to the group's front. 

“Makes no difference to me. Just simply following my purpose, sir.” 

“The coldest I tell ya!” he responded. 

I stood next to Mr. Lennox as he regained everyone’s attention. 

“Hey, everybody! Y'all wanted to run with Walker, so let's make it happen!” 

I looked back at the melting pot of men and women, exuding pure eagerness to follow me, a sixteen-year-old kid. We formed a staggered formation. Two others joined me at the front, and off we skedaddled into the November coolness. By the time I entered the usual nature trail just outside of my neighborhood, I had turned to look who was still trailing, no one. I cannot speak for anybody else; I was sprinting, running so strong that when my foot entangled itself in something rigid reaching from Mother Earth, a slab, bedrock, it came along with me. Nothing was holding me back. 

But I was not in a free world. If I tried to climb too high, I’d get banished by the sun; I was stuck, shackled until my last breath. We were all shackled, ready to be consumed by the soil. We don’t have much time. 

Young at age but certainly old at soul, having a fancy for knowledge, wisdom, and truth. Not the least bit captivated by the quest and interest of a normal teenage boy. Cars, jewelry, and the latest sneaker were okay; still and all, I was on the pursuit for happiness, peace, and enlightenment. I was by my lonesome many such days, appreciating the true value of my own company, traveling on an independent path. My introverted nature did not develop as a preference of mine. That’s just how it played out.

I kept running, moving as fast as my slender frame could carry me. I could not let anyone beat me, taking pride in being “ the coldest." My entire world seemed to revolve around those two words. I approached the usual five-mile trail that dissected a woodland just outside my neighborhood. Rushing expeditiously inside, I discovered the constituents of my morning reflection dispersed there before me—both familiarity and bewilderment. I knew this trail. I knew the deceptive gullies covered by the falling leaves. I knew the energetic bent-grasses that waved uncontrollably at me. I knew the beautiful wildflowers and their eclectic color schemes. Everything else caught me off guard, the insects, birds, and the footprints from the previous travelers. But still, I appreciated it all.

I was alone and thankful for the privacy of my thoughts. Was there a free world? Was there a way to escape? Maybe a world beyond this ticking time bomb getting ready to explode in flames, I mean, who knew?

I escaped into the open field, leaving my footprints behind for the next runner to trace. Off in the distance, I saw Mr. Lennox holding up the sign. He stood six feet two inches, and on most days, he wore a wide brim straw hat that blocked the sun from beaming onto his bald head. Mr. Lennox was special to me. A real man. A loyal man. A man that remained strong regardless of his circumstances. A man who expressed his emotions. A man that kept his word. A family man. A superior man. I felt the sweat now flowing down my face as I approached the sign. Lub dub, Lub dub, Lub dub. I could hear my heart speaking to me. I dropped my head, eyes closed, pushing through the agony as Mr. Lennox’s voice drew closer. 

“Walker, you hauling ass man! Good pace and a nice kick at the end.” 

I felt weak and woozy. Trying to respond, but the words would not come out. Mr. Lennox heaved my arm over his back and guided me to the closest curb. 

“You good?”

“Yeah, yeah,” I said.

“Breathe,” he replied.

I drew in my stomach as I took several deep, long breaths. Aromas of freshly cut grass and good quality air stuffed my nostrils. I was okay with Mr. Lennox seeing me this way, but my pride would not allow anyone else to see me like this. I was supposed to be the coldest, I reiterated to myself before opening my eyes. Shortly after, I gathered myself and sprung to my feet. 

“Here is a bottle of water and my hat to block out the sun," said Mr. Lennox while handing me both items. 

Can you imagine? 

There I was attempting to hide all of my flaws to appear pristine in front of my fans. Like they too did not have flaws and shortcomings themselves. It was sad; I possessed a God-like persona at such a young age.

“Lookie here,” said Mr. Lennox drawing my attention to an approaching figure that maintained a steady pace. She couldn’t be older than about nineteen or so. Her mocha skin glimmered with a blend of sunscreen and sweat; I couldn’t help but smile. Her name was Victoria, Victoria Adebayo. Vicky looked after Khadia and me a few years earlier, while Momma used to run errands. I had the biggest crush on Vicky back then.Everyone else came flowing in after her as we formed into a large circle. Mr. Lennox stood in the center, representing a campfire, igniting everyone’s spirit. 

“Job well-done ya'll!” he blazed. The clapping commenced before they left in the exact fashion they came, in formation with Mr. Lennox at the forefront.