It was supposed to be an easy $100. $90 if you subtract the cost of participation. But not even one minute in, and my hands are beginning to shake like I have Parkinson’s. I can’t hold on for much longer.
It was like those first few laps in a run when you’re first starting out. Those triumphant thoughts always come before the pain. A full sprint at the start is the mark of the beginner, I think. You use all your physical energy at the start, and you expend your mental willpower ahead of time. Right when you should be digging deep, your shovel breaks.
I don’t usually lose money in a run, though.
I tried to hold on for as long as I could, but between the unknown physics of the steel bar, gravity, and something-something-leverage, I was feeling the temptation of surrender. I had gotten up there so confidently. “I’m the Chocolate Lab,” I’d said.
I remember most everyone goading me on toward the end; I think they knew it was coming. Most, I must reemphasize. Her voice stands out in my head still. You’re the Chocolate Lab! I think she’d believed it.
When my knees hit the dirt, I couldn’t close my hands. I got up, and we continued along the path.