About Creative Writing, Fictography

Fictography #17: If Rocky Can Do It…

Rocky's Steps, Philadelphia, PA.
Rocky’s Steps.

/FICTOGRAPHY/ def. — The intersection of photography (submitted by readers) and fiction (written by me!).

You’ll have to forgive my absence last week. I attended a conference from Thursday through Sunday and didn’t have the chance to write my weekly creative FICTOGRAPHY post. I’m back now, and this week, I’m using a photograph my husband took in Philadelphia, PA. Since it’s my husband’s photo and he’s an exercise-aholic, in addition to partaking in several triathlons, I had him in mind when I wrote this (not that it’s about him necessarily). Lots of folks are fitness buffs, challenging themselves in triathlons, races, half-marathons, tough mudders, and marathons. I am not one of those people, but I admire those who set a goal and reach it. Growing up, “Rocky” was one of my favorite movies, and I think I saw it in the theatre at least five times. With that in mind, here’s today’s FICTOGRAPHY. ‘Yo, Adrian.

 

IF ROCKY CAN DO IT

The race was coming up. Training. Training. Training. Early morning runs and late night sprints. A year to go 26.2 miles in one morning. Impossible.

Maybe at one time, it would have been impossible. But not now.

Core exercises, swimming, jumping rope.

You’d watched “Rocky” since you were a kid. You pulled out the film again and again during the last year. Sly Stallone mounting the steps. Sly Stallone rigorously challenging his body day after day.

One race. One morning.

You were ready.

From the film "Rocky." Rocky Balboa/Sylvester Stallone.
From the film “Rocky.” Rocky Balboa/Sylvester Stallone.

It was the last run you’d take before the big one. Around Philadelphia you ran, hours of running, your iPod running out of battery you used it for so long.

And then, Rocky’s steps. The last hurdle. The last challenge of the day.

Up and up you climbed, breathless, huffing and puffing, but determined to make it. To throw your arms in the air, a victor. Twenty more steps…fifteen…ten…five…

Your arms felt light as you raised them over your head. People stared. Some smiled. Those who had been in your shoes at one time applauded.

A victor in training.

Now all that was ahead was one race.

 

 

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