Download the running dream pdf

Your Rating:. Your Comment:. Read Online Download. Great book, The Running Dream pdf is enough to raise the goose bumps alone. Add a review Your Rating: Your Comment:. Flipped by Wendelin Van Draanen.

Youre alive, and you still have your knee which makes a huge difference in your future mobility. BK amputees have it much easier than AK amputees. Im sorry, he says, turning to my mother.

Below knee. Above knee. In the world of prosthetic legs its a critical difference. He prepares to leave. There will obviously be an adjustment period, but Jessica is young and fit and I have full confidence that she will return to a completely normal life. My mother nods, but she seems dazed. Like shes wishing my father was there to help her absorb whats being said.

Wells flashes a final smile at me. Focus on the positive, Jessica. Well have you up and walking again in short order. This from the man who sawed off my leg. He whooshes from the room leaving a dark, heavy cloud of the unspoken behind. My mother smiles and coos reassuringly, but she knows what Im thinking.

What does it matter? Ill never run again. Thats what I do. Thats who I am. Running is all I know, or want, or care about.

It was a race around the soccer field in third grade that swept me into a real love of running. Breathing the sweet smell of spring grass. Sailing over dots of blooming clover. Beating all the boys. After that, I couldnt stop. I ran everywhere. Raced everyone. I loved the wind across my cheeks, through my hair. Running aired out my soul. It made me feel alive. And now? Im stuck in this bed, knowing Ill never run again. He tries to talk to me about a fake leg, but I make him stop.

I just cant listen to this. He gets the nurse to put a new bandage on my leg. One thats thinner. With less gauze. Im cold. The rooms cold. Everything feels cold. I want to cover up, but Hank is getting ready to put on the shrinker sock.

Its a long, toeless tube sock that he pulls up into a short length of wide PVC pipe, then folds the top part of the sock back over the pipe. I dont understand what hes going to do with it, and I dont care.

Until he slips the pipe over my stump. I gasp as pressure and pain shoot up my leg. Im sorry, Hank says, transferring the sock from the pipe onto my leg as he pulls the pipe off. Were almost done. Half the tube sock is now dangling from my stump.

Hank slides a small ring up the dangling end, then stretches out the rest of the. Theres pressure. But Hank assures me itll feel better soon. The area is swollen, he tells me. Pooling with blood. The shrinker sock will help reduce the swelling and speed your recovery.

Once the wound is healed and the volume of your leg is reduced, we can fit you with a preliminary prosthesis. How long will that take? Her voice starts out shaky, but she tries to steady it. Hank whips out a soft tape measure and circles the end of my stump. Thats hard to say. His mind seems to wander, so my mom asks, Well, in a typical situation?

Hank takes a deep breath. Typical is a person in poor health. Someone with circulatory problems. Someone whos old, overweight, or suffering from diabetes.

He glances at me. A case like Jessicas will not have the same timeline. Her recovery will be much quicker. So what is their expected recovery time? We usually dont fit them with a preparatory prosthesis for about six months. Six months? But Jessica could have hers in a fraction of that time.

It all depends on her healing and how soon she can tolerate it. They talk some more, but I stop listening. What does it matter how long it takes? Ill never recover. I cant see how Ill ever even adjust. I see the race. Vanessa Steeles in lane five, stretching out. Her long nails painted deep red, her racing glasses flashing back the late morning sun.

I remember thinking that Vanessa has been good for me. Her superior attitude, her mind games, her domination of the four hundred meter. Its been good for me. Vanessa glances over her shoulder; waiting for me to get into my blocks before she gets down in hers.

Its part of her game. She likes to be the last one standing. This time I dont mind. Im through being sucked into her psych out. I feel calm. Kyro has been helping me focus. Hes been building me up mentally and physically, coaching me for this moment. I give Vanessa a little smile and nod from my position in lane four. Even my colors feel lightlike the sun and the sky floating above me. Im down in the blocks now, ready to fly. Vanessa makes her final adjustments, then holds steady.

The gun goes off and all runners shoot forward. Its a fury of steps, spikes against track. They thunder all around me, but somehow sound miles away. By the first bend we find our stride. My kick is good. Strong and long. Whoosh, whoosh, whoosh, whoosh! My arms are pumping, but theyre smooth, almost relaxed.

My breathings open, flowing, and I barely feel my feet touching down. Suddenly Im floating. Soaring around the track. The thunder fades behind me, and the staggered start has me at a mental advantageI can see Vanessa, but she can only feel me behind her, moving in.

At the two hundred meter mark the field has widened. All except for Vanessa and me. Weve tightened. We crest at the three hundred, then face Rigor Mortis Bend.

Vanessa knows Im here. On her tail. Were down to grit and guts, so I dig in. Dig deep. She does the same.

We battle along the straightaway, my legs burning, aching,. Shoulder to shoulder, I force one last push and duck over the finish line in front of her. Fifty-five flat! Kyro shouts. Its a new personal best for me. A new record for the league. Its also the last race of my life. My finish line. Conversations happen around me. Whispers, like a heavy fog, hang on in my mind. But then theres my fathers voice. And Dr. Outside my room, their words drift in through the crack in the doorway.

My father asks about things hes read online. Rigid removable dressings. Speedier recoveries. He sounds like a doctor. Wells replies revolve around small town practicalities, insurance allowances, and the tried and true methods employed by Mercy Hospital.

Dad comes in and checks on me, and although he pretends to be upbeat, hes irked. He likes to fix things. He checks out the stump protector thats been put on over the shrinker sock.

It holds my leg straight and keeps me from bumping the wound. He seems pleased with it and throws around phrases like controlling edema and preventing knee flexion contracture. He sounds like he knows what hes talking about.

But really, hes a self-employed handyman. And Im not something he can fix. Im sick of bedpans. Hand me the crutches, I growl at my mother. Shes unsure. I hadnt done so well with the physical therapist. Hand them to me! She does, and I swing my legs over the edge of the bed. It takes a little doing, but I stand, supported by the crutches.

Im already panting. My mother pushes along my IV stand as I hobble toward the bathroom. Youre doing great, she says, but shes wrong. Im dizzy. Maybe I should get the nurse? I shake my head, angry that this is so hard. Youre doing great, my mom repeats as I start up again. Im so proud of you! My hands death-grip the crutches and I hobble forward. A few days ago I ran a fifty-five flat in the four hundred meter. Today Im taking five minutes to go twenty feet. When I finally get to the bathroom, I see myself in the mirror.

Matted hair. Puffy eyes. Chapped lips. I move on, then pass the crutches off to my mother, grab the support bar, and begin to lower myself onto the toilet. But Im weak and my good leg gives way. My mother gasps as I fall onto the seat with a painful thump, and then fusses as I pee all over my gown. Its okay! It was your first try. What do you expect? She turns and calls, Nurse? It will get easier. Things will get better. But in her eyes I can see fear.

Fear that her words are lies. Lies, lies, lies. More desperately. This time one appears. Oh, my, she says when shes sized up the situation. Do we need a new gown? It takes the three of us ten minutes to wash and redress me. Another five for me to hobble back to bed. They help me under the covers, and after Im tucked safely inside, my mother brushes back my hair and kisses my forehead. I manage a weak smile, then close my eyes, destroyed. Its a place in the four hundred meter race where every cell of your body locks up.

Your lungs ache for air. Your quads turn to cement. Your arms pump desperately, but theyre stiff and feel like lead. Rigor Mortis Bend is the last turn of any track, and at Liberty High, youre greeted with a headwind.

The finish line comes into view and you will yourself toward it, but the wind pushes you back, your body begs you to give up, and the whole world seems to grind into slow motion.

Your determination is all thats left. It forces your muscles to fire. Forces you to stay in the race. Forces you to survive the pain of this moment. Your teammates scream for you to push.

But their voices are muffled by the gasping for air, the pounding of earth, the pumping of blood, the need to collapse. Rigor Mortis Bend. Its the hell you endure for starting the race. I feel like Im living on Rigor Mortis Bend.

Register Remember Password. Jessica thinks her life is over when she loses a leg in a car accident. She's not comforted by the news that she'll be able to walk with the help of a prosthetic leg.

Who cares about walking when you live to run? As she struggles to cope with crutches and a first cyborg-like prosthetic, Jessica feels oddly both in the spotlight and invisible.

People who don't know what to say, act like she's not there. Which she could handle better if she weren't now keenly aware that she'd done the same thing herself to a girl with CP named Rosa. A girl who is going to tutor her through all the math she's missed.