Novel About Running Novels & Stories

But the leg is not in such a shape that it can run over uneven ground while bearing Fred's full weight. We stand at the invisible start line of a race of unknown length and take a deep breath. Martin, Madeline, Maverick and I look at each other, conveying our concern. We take a deep breath. “Go,” Maverick says. The seven of us break into a run while Noah, Douglas and Fred go as fast as they can. About 15 steps in the first arrow swoops past me, hitting the ground. “Keep moving,” I yell. Zigzagging through the forest. I hate that we are just running from them trying to avoid getting hit but without weapons or protection it’s our only option. Run, hope and pray to the Moon Goddess that she wil

“Obviously, he thinks you’re a runner. Are you a runner?” “I can’t run. I try to run and I look like Donald Duck. Big butt waddling along. Boobs flying all over the place because no sports bar can tame these girls. It’s not a pretty sight. Then I usually trip over something or twist my foot, and my body will warn me that it wasn’t made for running. And then I’ll stop running for another few years. Until I get the harebrained idea that I need to run in order to lose a few pounds. And the cycle starts again. What was my point again?”

Legs…he’d called me Legs. I continued running until all thought focused on my next step. At twelve miles, I reached a point where nothing mattered—the scenery, temperature, or Killian memories, and I kept going. Eventually, I hit the last low-angled hill, which took me back to my apartment. But… it didn’t matter how many miles I ran, I still couldn’t get a good night’s sleep.

She’s a few years older than me and I like to think that us Girl Bosses will stick together. “I’ll be ten minutes, Mom.” I swing my legs out of the bed and stretch from side to side with my arms stretched over my head and lean to one side then the other. My running kit is still over the chair from the other morning only since I’ve got nasty cramping, running is the last thing I feel like doing but I will go for the fast walk. Exercise always helps me mentally and it’s so good to take my mind off Cody. I’ll put in ear pods in and stick on my latest audiobook. I’m currently listening to a psychological thriller by Daniel Hurst, one of my go2 authors.

“Those sound like excellent goals. I’m proud of you for taking initiative.” I bite my lip, hesitating. There’s something else I want, but I’m not sure Allison will approve. Still, I decide to push forward. “There’s…uh, one more thing I was thinking about.” She looks at me patiently. “What’s that?” I take a deep breath. “I want to start running again.” Before she can react, I rush ahead. “I know you think I should be doing things involving other people, anchoring myself in social situations, but running always helped ground me. Before, the only person I ever ran with was Cole, so none of my other friends do it, but that’s okay. Cole and I rarely ran together anyway—just started at the same pl

I certainly am not the She you want to be asking that question. Running: the only thing that keeps me sane nowadays, the only time I actually begin to feel complete. When I am sprinting, I am well aware of the fact that the next probable collision will only be between me and the ground. That is safer than anything I can ask for. Running, till my lungs are heaving, ready to give out and my knees feels like jellyfish.

After a long, painful walk, I finally jump down and start running through the snow without wearing any shoes. It's cold, but I don't care. I have this gut-wrenching feeling something will go wrong with Ryan's plan to abuse Felicia. There is no logical way to explain it—I just know that I have to run. So I run, and I run until I'm emptied of thoughts and reason. Only adrenaline exists now. My feet hurt from running over patches of ice, yet I press on with purpose. I've never been very athletic, but I guess terror combined with adrenaline can work wonders on someone's body. So I press on like a champion, darting my head to the loud voices in the distance.

Just as the three of them stepped off the stage, I bit down hard on Henry's fingers. The moment his grip loosened, I dashed toward the backstage area. [Go! Let your mother get a good look at you!] Fueled by the onslaught of comments, I pushed myself to run faster. It hit me suddenly that the world I had been living in was shaped by the narrative of the true heiress and the imposter. Today, I was meant to be drenched in boiling soup by Henry and sent to the hospital.

I started traveling. Visited all the calm places I'd only seen in textbooks—cliffs, deserts, fields that rolled forever. This time, I wasn't missing a thing. But sometimes, in some quiet corner of a new city, I'd feel it—that familiar presence. Never close enough to bother me. Never far enough to forget. I always knew who it was. But I never turned around. Never slowed down. That foolish Wenna? She died in the accident. Died under Hugh's cold stare.

It is because of all these wrongs that I ran and will keep on running. The safe-haven I call the town line finally comes into view, bringing renewed hope into my being. I take the chance to pick up speed and rush into the safety net. I feel some resistance at first as if some invisible force is trying to keep me out, but I keep pushing forward, and soon I am safely across, relief causing my nerves to settle down. I turn around to face my pursuers with a smug grin, slowly walking backwards as I take in each of their faces.