Where I have a new story out: Marathoner
It was the fall he was running 50 miles a week. In the morning he would get up in the pre-dawn dark and step into his shorts. Those nylon shorts felt like the hand of the devil on his ass, so cold and so clammy, but he always wore them, knowing that after the first mile he’d warm up. He pulled his grey Northwestern sweatshirt on over the T-shirt he’d slept in. Katie would still be asleep on her side of the bed. Before slipping out the front door, he laced up a pair of Adidas, the goosepimples on his hard thighs standing out like Braille. The sun still not up yet.