My first pair of gumboots.

My neck was sore. I had been running for 3 hours straight now.  This marathon was taking every inch of my muscles to conquer.  I felt sufficient when the spectators were cheering me on, but a downpour began not long ago and they had dispersed – trying to find some shelter from the rain.  The raindrops were icy cold; they made my muscles numb and rigid and the stench of cow manure could be smelt along the side of the road. The clouds smothered the sunlight and I seemed to be left in the middle of nowhere; on a hard concrete road; running in a state-wide marathon.  I didn’t like the sound of that one bit.  The finish line seemed very far away – perhaps too far for me to go on but I kept telling myself that I had trained so hard to get to this point…

Slowly, around a sharp corner behind some trees, I saw a small bunch of people huddled together.  I was relieved to see some people.  It looked like a family and even though they were shivering they seemed to be enjoying the race.  They waved and offered some encouraging words.  I caught a glimpse of them and was surprised to see a young girl wearing some bright yellow gumboots.  I gasped, almost stopping in my tracks.  Yellow like the sun that disappeared on me; like the familiar autumn leaves I would crush under my feet; like that canary I used to have when I was 7.  I remembered my first pair of gumboots – they were yellow, too…

I came home from school one day and mum had been shopping, “Look at what I bought for you!” She handed me some shoes, they were yellow.  I grabbed them with my sticky fingers, eyeing them with delight.  They fitted perfectly on my feet and were very comfortable.  I decided that from then on that I loved these…
“Gumboots!” mum said.
I ran around the house screaming, “I love my gumboots! I love my gumboots!”
When dad came home he took me outside to run around in my new love.  I would squelch along in the mud and it sounded funny.  I giggled a lot at the sound – it was like farting except without the smell.  I knew I would never part with these gumboots.  I wore them everywhere; to school; to the shopping centre; to the swimming pool and of course around the house.  Everyone liked my gumboots and so they all bought one just because I did, I told them that I had them first.
Those where the candid days I had with my gumboots until one day, Dad and I were jumping on puddles in the park when dad told me to stay where I was,
“I’ll come back soon.” He mumbled.
I did what he told me.  But he never came back.  My gumboots and I circled the park, helplessly.  

The clouds had cleared and some moral support had come back – they were clapping for me.  My legs didn’t feel so tired and the air was fresh within my lungs.  My body told me to stop but my heart urged me to go on, at least for Dad.  For the rest of my journey I was back in my yellow gumboots, around the park and looking for the tall blonde haired man in the bottle green windcheater who is my father.  Perhaps he is waiting for me beyond the finish line.