Three miles. The pain started in his calves and spread steadily to the hamstrings, hip, and then to his abdomen. Breathing hard, Chadwick struggled not to gasp for air as he cast sidelong glances at his younger brother, Alchem. Alchem's long strides looked easy and fluid, his face stoic and relaxed. His blue baseball cap had a print of a tiger, its paw poised and threatening. Chadwick's hair stuck to his face-slick with sweat.

Three and a half miles. His chest growing tighter, he struggled to breathe without feeling suffocated by some crushing force. His hips began to feel unsteady and disjointed, body leaning side to side-unable to keep a balance. It required a paramount effort just to keep up with Alchem, who's expression betrayed not even the slightest hint of fatigue-his lips barely parted as if he was merely sampling the air rather then sucking it in bellows like his partner.

Four miles. Chadwick's arms hurt. His arms? "Why do my arms hurt?" All he knew was that they did. His triceps, biceps, even his shoulders. This occupied his thoughts for a moment before the pain moved to his neck and the nightmare was complete. A hundred thousand needles poked every pore, sawed at every muscle, and pulled at every hair. His body was one huge ache-lungs burned for air and he had to concentrate to keep from drifting into the middle of the road. Thud. Thud. Thud. Feet pounding pavement there was no end in sight, and he began to regret suggesting the exercise. Alchem lengthened his stride.

Four and a half miles. Chadwick had nothing left-what did they call this? The wall? He'd heard that he was supposed to break through the wall-that everything was easier on the other side. "Wall...if you have to get through the wall, who's bright idea was it to build it in the first place?" He cursed whoever's bright idea it was. It became a simple matter of pride-could he tell Alchem that he had to stop? Could he exchange his ego for the rest that had suddenly become as important as life itself?

Four and three-quarter miles. He did. "Stop." One word. One word that failed himself, his brother, and his sport. Did it? Tomorrow he'll run five. Then six. Run beside him, if only for a moment -- he is challenging fear. Are you?


**
Alternative ending for recent events:
Four and three-quarter miles. He did. "Stop" One word. One word that had echoed in his mind for every step. That had haunted him, egged him, challenged him, tempted him. One word that changed it all -- a few will say he's failed and abandon him to look for someone else who will carry the torch of medriocrity. Those who look harder will not find him panting, exhausted, counting mile markers; but soaring beyond their meager marathon. Fly beside him, if only for a moment -- he is challenging fear. Are you?
**

-this one's for you, sam.