By the end of the first hour I felt like some odious sweat monster, my body slick with all the built up sweat contained within the white overalls. Bit by bit the rest of the room around me mattered less. All I could focus on was my own breathing, my body screaming for me to stop jogging, and my Meter device which continued to flash with nightmarish consistency.

Chook-Chook, Chook-Chook.

I would give up soon. There wasn't any way I could keep this up. The fact I had managed over an hour of consistent jogging despite how cramped and in pain my body was, was in itself a miracle. It was no longer a matter of being determined, or trying to survive this scenario. My mind had reached a point where I would keep jogging until there just wasn't anything left in me to do so. Every moment it didn't happen came as a mild surprise. Not yet? I thought to myself, again and again, Still more to give? More pain to endure? Still breathing?

Chook-Chook, Chook-Chook.

The smell of sweat was incredibly thick in the air now. More teenagers were being brought onto the floor, filling up all of the empty treadmills and even the ones that had become vacant. I couldn't keep track with my eyes but I could at least hear the difference of more treadmills and more footfalls filling the air. More teenagers breathing hampered breaths. More crying. More cries for help, and home. We were in hell.

Chook-Chook, Chook-Chook.

By the two hour mark I wondered what time of day it was. Was it eight PM? Or nine? I couldn't remember the last time I saw a clock.

The sound of hampered breathing to my left drew my attention to Alex Landly. He had been jogging for at least an hour and a half and had worked up a major sweat. He ran gracefully, like the athlete he was, seeming to sail along with every nimble stride. Dude's like a freaking Elf, I thought to myself, sniggering.

Chook-Chook, Chook-Chook.

There was no way I could keep going. No way at all. The "wall" as athlete's called it was close. I was breathing so hard, as if I had been dunked into ice cold water, and yet somehow my body hadn't accepted it was over yet. It must have been all the jogging, all the stress, the dehydration, and all the insanity which had led up to me being in the state I was in…because I got a very stupid idea.

"Hey Alex?!" I shouted, sweat dripping from my head in large droplets as I turned just a little to look at him more.

Alex looked at me, his face red and his eyes narrowed in a mix of fierce concentration, disgust, and bewilderment.

"Th-think-y-you," I began, barely able to get the words out, "C-can k-keep u-up?!"

Although I knew it was likely suicide at this point I didn't care. If I was going to blow up soon then why not have some fun before my demise? I reached forward and pressed the up arrow key on my treadmill until the speeding mat forced me into a complete sprint. I regretted it as soon as I started, my whole body was moved back away from the buttons.

Doon! Doon! Doon! Doon! Doon!

A full mad sprint. I wanted to bellow out with mad laughter but I didn't have an ounce of energy to spare except to keep sprinting forward. How many seconds did I have left until I collapsed? One? Two? Definitely no more than three.

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Doon! Doon! Doon! Doon! Doon!

I kept going. My whole body felt like it was going to explode. How I was able to keep one foot in front of the other at this speed without tripping I had no idea.

Then, all of a sudden, the treadmill started to slow down. I snapped out of my madness, my eyes smarting on the body next to me. Tiffany was off her treadmill and was standing on the edge of mine, her hand pressing down the arrow key to make my treadmill slow down.

"Have you–lost–your mind?!" she whisper-shouted between huge sucks of air.

She looked over her shoulder and hurried back to her treadmill, breaking out into a jog again.

What had I done? What was I thinking? My frantic eyes searched for a Pied Piper officer, and I saw one casually walking in our direction. Had he seen Tiffany leave her treadmill? What would he have done if he did?

I turned my attention back to my treadmill. Jogging pace again. My face felt horribly red and blotchy, as usually happened when I worked up a sweat.

Chook-Chook, Chook-Chook.

How was I still moving? How hadn't I fallen over yet? With a great deal of agony in my stiff neck I glanced over at Alex Landly. He was still jogging but his eyes were fixed on me, staring in angry disbelief. I could almost see what I had done from his point of view. There was Burgess, that loser from school that nobody liked. The boy that was always last or second to last during physical education classes running laps around the astroturf football pitch, or doing the Beep Test in the gym. How was Burgess still going? How had he sprinted like a mad idiot and still managed to stay upright on the treadmill?

Maybe he was thinking those things, or maybe not. I couldn't tell of course. But what was surprising me was how it wasn't over yet. And I was still able to think things through, still breathing, still holding on.

I looked down at my Meter device and saw the same flashing orange light. Please, I thought, Please change back. I can't take anymore!

Chook-Chook, Chook-Chook.

The second hour of consistent treadmill jogging past into a third. I had become sweat. I was the embodiment of it. I was a sweat elemental. If I were to die I would be reborn as a godly entity that derived all its power from the concept of sweat. I was shinier than a polished trophy. Red and glistening like a wet tomato. Soaked through like a kitchen towel. But more than anything I was still moving. Still in motion.

Chook-Chook, Chook-Chook.

Tiffany looked just about as bad as I felt. She held her stomach, her face bright red and scrunched with pain, her legs both moving at a jogging pace but stiffly as if riddled with cramps. For a moment I forgot about myself and felt strangely proud of her, though I hardly knew her at all.

"K-keep g-going!" I said, spittle spraying a bit from my mouth from how out-of-it and clumsy I felt.

Tiffany, slowly, wincing with one eye closed, smiled and gave me a thumbs up. I grinned. Was this the euphoria which came about from exercise, or something else? Sure my body was in agony, but I also felt somehow…good? Excited even? Maybe it was because I knew I had done my best (and gone a little mad with that sprinting episode before), as if somehow, if I survived this, I could turn to my friend and tell him what I had achieved. I could tell my father, mother, brother, and sister what I had been through. Maybe one day I'd write a book about it all.

"B-Burgess?" came a voice. It was strained and in much need of hydration. It was Alex Landly's.

I did a double-take, looking at him as if he had just blown to smithereens.

"How–are you—still—going?" He said, just barely.

I shook my head. I wanted to cry again. I might have cried but I didn't have the moisture to spare.

"I–don't–know," I said back.

Alex Landly looked away from me and kept jogging. His Meter continued to flash orange. Now he was starting to struggle, which was only natural. But he was a real athlete, and I was me. So why was he looking like the one lagging behind?