By RODRIGO PAREDES / Staff Writer
When I first glanced at you,
breathed you, in seconds I was attracted
to the entertaining thought of my Nikes
marking their presence on your garnet-desert surface.
I wasn’t ready for you. For a couple of weeks, I
began prepping my engine, my vessel,
with basic exercises – pushups, sit-ups, pull-ups, and jogging.
I could only run a mile until my legs couldn’t outlast
the furnace of Miami, my muscles as sensitive
as angel hair on a live stove.
Months later, like every runner speeding on the track,
I was trying to be the next Usain Bolt
or Allyson Felix for the Olympics,
racing and adjusting like a Ferrari on the highway.
I made sure to use the nitrous once I past a curve or a turn.
Like a pilot of a plane or a driver in NASCAR, I was home because I was
the steering wheel to my time and acceleration.
The scent of adrenaline and the sensation
of my salty tears falling on the ground
as if it were raining, kept bringing me back to the race I could never lose – my life.
The obsession of having my muscles on fire,
as well as the competitive spirit of crossing the
finish line first pushed me to an overdrive, like the
Race to Space between the US and Russia.
My motivation kept ascending with velocity
until I hit the brakes forever.
Rodrigo Paredes is a junior at Florida State University, double-majoring in EWM and Political Science, who on occasion gets lost in the raveling world of music, poetry, and sports, and politics.