What Makes Larry Run?

Larry was in a rush.

He left his apartment, not bothering to close the door. By the time his boots hit the pavement, he was already in a flat sprint. This was impressive, considering that Larry was seventy years old.

He felt his knees creak with every stride, yet still he ran on. The people he passed gave him odd looks. Larry wondered about this for a moment, then realized it was because he was still wearing his home clothes. In his haste, he had forgotten to put on his sweats.

No matter, Larry thought. He would make do. He had no choice. He had to get in shape. He had to prepare for something, something important...

As he ran, Larry tuned out the looks the strangers were giving him, just as he ignored his aching knees. He instead turned his focus inward: to the whoosh of his labored breathing, to the sound of his hard-working heart.

Time lost all meaning in this meditative state. Before he knew it, Larry was on his last lap. He picked up the pace, finishing strong. When he arrived at his front door it was still open. His clothes were sweat-soaked but he was very proud of himself. He stepped into his apartment with a sense of victory.

"Dad? Where have you been?" came a voice from the dark.

Larry turned. The man who had called him 'Dad' was a stranger, standing in his living room, wearing a worried look on his face. "Who are you?" Larry demanded, confused and more than a little bit angry.

"I'm your son," the man said. "Larry Junior, remember?"

"That's impossible. Junior is five years old."

The stranger brought a hand to his face. Then he beckoned to the couch. "Sit, Dad," he said gently. "Let me show you something." Bemused, Larry sat. The man sat beside him. He pulled out a phone.

The phone contained impossible pictures. The first depicted Larry standing shoulder-to-shoulder with the man, smiling. The second picture was that of a much younger Larry in a boxing ring, arms raised in victory. The last showed young Larry in his sweats, out doing his roadwork, running...

With a start, Larry remembered.

"Oh, God..." Larry said. "Junior? I'm so sorry..."

"Don't worry about it, Dad. Now let's get you to bed."

Larry let his son take him by the hand and lead him to bed. He was very tired. As he drifted off, he could hear Junior on the phone. "He had one of his episodes again..." his son was saying. "It's all those damned shots to the head..." Feeling guilty, Larry slept.

When Larry awoke it was morning. His legs ached—but that was no excuse. He had a fight coming up. He had to build up his cardio. He had to go run. Not bothering to change out of his clothes, he left his apartment. He left the door ajar.

By the time his boots hit the pavement, he was already in a flat sprint.