I run effortlessly in my dreams. Loping strides, limitless energy, easy breathing. Nothing stops me from bounding over obstacles. I can simultaneously sprint and look over my shoulder to chivvy my partner along. The ground beneath my feet is firm, but not brutally hard. Running is the reason I was born.
In real life, I can barely break out of shuffle as I move down the trail. My heels don't drag, but they might as well. Every step takes all of my weight, and even though I'm moving forward, I'm outrunning exactly nothing. My entire life is sitting on my shoulders, doubling my already excessive weight. Running is never easy, and never will be easy, as long as I'm awake.
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