Wednesday, July 8, 2009

The Ride

by Rhonda Chattin

I gotta tell you about this ride. Consider this a heads up, but I don't think it is one you can ever fully prepare for.

It starts off with an unforgettable descent, so fast that things blur by unfocused. You see nothing more than streams of color, no images register. You are denying that you even got on in the first place.

Then you realize more than ever before you have to keep flexible, cause now you're on these immediate turns. They are so fast, quick and blinding you have no clue what your going to be up against around each corner. You make one turn and you're almost certain you've some how turned around as it feels as though you are traversing the same terrain you just crossed. You start to want to shout for help, while looking ahead, hoping to find forgiveness in your path.

All of your senses are on alert, you start an ascent that is ruthless. This all just when your blood is coursing through your veins and you don't think you have any more to give. You know without a doubt, this climb will either make you or break you. Water is streaming down your face by now. This climb is steep, tough, hidden turns, and is vein popping and lung expanding. You're already on it and you feel there is no turning back.

You've made it this far. Right?

Followed up with some more unexpected twists and turns, just to see what you're made of. Keeping you on your toes, your reflexes already dulled, you're exhausted, breathe heavy and realizing you've got to be ready for anything now.

Then it all changes, you spin along this section of rolling ups and downs. At this point wondering if there is an end in sight, you hurt like you've never hurt before. You feel or know some how by now you really don't reach the end of this ride.

It is a ride that stays with you, you become a part of it. Or does it become a part of you? So that you know, if you should ever cross the path of this ride, it is called, "sweetie, I've got cancer...".

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