My breathing steadies and my head feels light. When I look beside me, for the first time, I don’t see that weight on my brother’s chest. I don’t see anything tugging him backwards. He’s fucking smiling. The sun streams through the trees, our distance shortening with each step. Pride, for him, consumes me. And it’s at four miles in—when he leaves my side and takes five lengthy strides ahead—that I know. He’s going to outrun me.
