Once upon a time I was a weak man; I let others dictate the conditions of my existence. I did their...

Once upon a time I was a weak man; I let others dictate the conditions of my existence.  I did their work and sought their praise, and by and by bargained away those parts of myself worth anything.  But outside the walls, it’s just you, your gear— your brain mapping a hundred feet in every direction.  In the beginning I tired easy; my breathing ran shallow.  Everything burned, my muscles, my lungs— every atom screaming for respite.  But stay out long enough and some region in your brain will go dark— and all that’s left is the meat; when to walk, when to run, when to clench and squeeze down against the earth.  No doubt, no hesitation.  And some hours later, the circuit will re-connect and you’ll be there, alone, covered in mud or blood, with skinned knuckles and bruised ribs, waiting for the trembling to stop.