Boss Lady

No Pain No Gain

Wholesalers, retailers, distributors, factory managers, sales people, excutives, managers, employees from different departments, and even three people from the board of directors were spotted miling about near the front line in bold black Boss Lady T-shirts with the feminine, italic B in the centre. Hundreds of fans had turned up in support of the cause. Word gad spread like wildfire through our social media platforms.

To see my people in the crowd, lessened some of my fear. I was calm in the middle of the participants, jogging on spot with headphones in my ear. Cameras making live coverages of the race, clicked away. Eminem blasted in my ears. I was ready to shit my bowels out of me. It felt like day 1 when I had started my business with zero customers and zero sales with 1.2 million dollars investment and no return. The constant worry and anxiety of it all was so similar.

I almost smiled at the fear. It was so potent that it turned into adrenaline.

We stood on our marks and the white flag went down.

My legs pushed forward with a burst of energy, slowly restablishing it's connection with the ground. I started at a leisurely pace, watching all the fellow runners move with cheers from everyone.

The familiar pounding of legs on the concrete was a comfort. At this point, the ibuprofen had already taken effect. The cramps had been reduced to a dull throbbing.

The first ten miles were a breeze. I smiled and waved at people I recognized. I high-fived others in the crowd.

I ran freely even when blood soaked my pink leggings.

An hour later, I was soaked with sweat and my lower abdomen started cramping again. I breathed in and out hard through the pain, and kept pushing on.

After twenty miles, I was barely standing on my legs. The faces started to blur into one, until all I was seeing were moving black heads and skin-coloured arms. The pain got so bad that I almost gagged. My legs weren't used to running under such pain and they buckled from the pressure. At that point, my body was running purely on auto pilot. Somehow I had programmed myself to keep running. My legs repeated the motions over a hundred thousand times all over the road.

The mind shuts down in the most intense moments of pain. The mind stops paying attention. I severed myself almost from my physical body. My mind resorted to its only coping mechanism to save my sanity.

Time slowed.

Little moments of my life appeared in front of my eyes, in weird bright colour flashes, so vivid as if I were watching a movie in 3D. I was transported back to Rio De Janeiro again, the stench of poverty saturating my nostrils. It clung to my skin like a cloying woman's perfume. It was the smell that I still carried secretly in my heart. No amount of showers could wash that smell. I could distinctly hear the flies buzzing over the plates, the fights for food, the cries of an abandoned baby on the street. In that moment, I was thirteen years old again, crying at the unfairness that I couldn't go to school myself because of no sanitary napkins. I heard the laughter of the cruel boys in my ear when blood had stained my one pristine white frock that I used to wear to school and it was horrifying to be that girl again. To have no power. To have no money. To be abused by an alcoholic father who had gambled all the earnings away.

But it was my mother's voice that shouted the loudest,

"RUN! Querida, RUN!"

The day I had run from home with nothing in my pocket holding my mother's hand in a death grip to the United States had been the best day in my life. Starving, dirty and sleepless, we have come to one of the richest countries in the world to steal a bit if that fortune for ourselves. Now, 20 years later, I was on top of the food chain because I had fought, fought with my life to come here.

All the years and the regrets came hard and fast after one another. My cheeks felt wet. My head swam.

So, I ran like I never had. For all my sisters, who would never be able to run freely. I ran from my demons, I ran from my past. The pain in stomach and legs was nothing compared to the pain in my heart. All the anger over the years, all the frustration that I had bottled up burst out. I pummeled all of the rage to adrenaline until all my legs knew was the kiss of the ground.

I did not tire. I did not fail. I knew what I had to do for all the Sanas in the world. I could hear my son then, telling me 'You can do it, ma!' At the top of my voice.

I can do it.

I have to do it.

I will do it.

The finish line came into view and with the last bit of strength, I pushed through the white ribbon of victory with my arms outsretched and tears streaming down my face.

I fell on my knees down at the line as the other runners came in cheering aone after the other at the end of two and half hours.

I put my head in my arms and cried on the ground for what seemed to be an eternity.

And then, the air whooshed out of my lungs again.

My feet lifted off the ground as familiar arms held me tight against a rock solid chest.

Ethan.

"I did it! E-Ethan I did it...... I did it.", I said blubbering, crying and laughing like an idiot.

I clasped his face in both my arms and pressed my forehead to his.

" Ethan! I did...it.", I wheezed out.

"I am so fucking proud of you."

He was breathing hard too. And that was when my hands started shaking from the intense stress.

"Take me to the tent....right now. I.... I don't wanna lose it in front of all these people."

The blood had caked on my thighs and the tights were a mess. But, I couldn't feel anything.

I waved weakly at all the shouts of encouragement and love coming from the crowd.

And then in front of a thousand spectators, Ethan carried me in his arms. It would make headlines tomorrow. I didn't care in the least.

Miraculously, Ethan managed to peel my tights off me. He did it with dexterous efficiency and the clinical detachment of a doctor who was used to seeing unusual amounts of blood. His touch was gentle and his orders firm. Thankfully there was a toilet nearby and he helped me to tidy up a little bit. My legs were useless at this point and the pain was back with a vengeance. He helped me put on a fresh pair of leggings. He would let nobody near me. His reason, 'I am a trained medical professional better at handling this than anyone else.'

Ethan gave me two more painkillers and the staff miraculously presented a cup of tea. But, I couldn't even sip it. I was going to vomit otherwise.

While Ethan went to look for an ice pack from Lord knows knows where, I quickly asked Jules to grab my chequebook and write a cheque for the organizers. Ethan would probably not want me to put in so many zeroes, but what he didn't know wouldn't hurt him.

Jules patted my head in sympathy and pride but didn't make a move to touch me.

The directors were almost in tears at the amount we had raised from the crowd. Nearly 2.7 million dollars plus additional press coverage. She shook my hand dazedly and thanked us for such support.

Bree and Georgiana went ahead to handle the press meet since I was half dead already.

Then I was hoisted in his arms again and through the back entrance, we stepped into the car where Tom had been waiting. He gave me a salute.

Jules kissed my head lightly and whispered lightly,

"I'll be sick any day of the week if that man plays nurse."

I couldn't even laugh. The rest of the ride, I clung to Ethan like a spider monkey and gently ran his fingers through my hair.
       
It was a comfort that he was here.
                         ____________