The human was found running the special racing track all hours day and night. When asked why, they were honest, it was the only way they could think of to help control their temper after a bad fight. Problem is, the human tended to run the track, until they literally collapsed. -- Fighting Fit
Their Human was fast. Special training, they said. Flitz could be found there when they could not be found anywhere else, and Companion Pwyll was still trying to wrap his head around their Human's reasons for being there.
There was the basic self-maintenance running, which was Flitz's training sessions early-early in the morning. There was their once a week 'challenge' running, where they pitted themselves against fellow maniacs to get the best time over a specific distance[1]. Then there was this.
This was... furious. The look on Flitz's face was far more dangerous than any other expression they had on their special track. Whenever Flitz had a bad day, or a bad moment, or lost an argument, they went to their track to run. And then they did not stop. Not even when their legs refused to run any more.
Pwyll had come when the health monitors indicated a near-toxic accumulation of lactic acid in Flitz's systems, and witnessed the horror.
There's a special kind of gait that comes from the willingness to run, but the lack of capability to do so. It's more of a hopping from foot to foot with no more pushing forward than the lifting of a foot. Flitz should have stopped at this point. They should have stopped hours ago. Yet they were still trying to run.
"This is unhealthy," said Pwyll. "You are in danger of internal chemical toxicity."
"I'm... still... pissed," panted Flitz.
"Please sit and talk? I cannot help you at this pace."
The "helpless frail Havenworlder" trick worked, and at least got Flitz to sit and rehydrate.
"I don't like being angry," said Flitz. "So I run it off. And when I can't run it off, I run until..." they mimed the result. An upright hand falling flat against an imaginary firmament. Collapse.
"That is very unhealthy. We have counsellors who can assist with other means of anger management."
"But I don't wanna scare you little fluffballs."
"This?" Pwyll gestured at the racing track. "Running until you collapse? It also frightens us."
Flitz vented a long curse. "Fine. I'll go do therapy."
[1] If you know what parkrun is, you know what this is.
[Photo by Anders J on Unsplash]
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