QWOP, Day 27:
Great feats require more than sheer strength and blind rage. There are only so many times you can flail a pair of secateurs at an innocent piece of shrubbery before you realise you’re left with a fine mulch rather than a fine display of plant-induced artistry.
What does this have to do with this track? I’m not sure. Perhaps I was a gardener in my previous life. Who knows. I know I don’t. “Use your head” they would say, and I did, to break my fall. Perhaps that’s why I am struck with this odd sense of amnesia. Ha! What an odd bundle of videogame tropes I’m becoming…
QWOP, Day 26:
My poor bones are brittle
Progress is fickle
To make it this far? It hurts…just a little.
Will tomorrow be better?
Or worse?
Maybe even,
a little the same.
Have a name? It’d be Steven.
And no, I’m not making much sense anymore
Here, on this track, please I implore
you send for a doctor,
a nurse,
or a surgeon.
I’ve got bones that are broken and things that are hurting!!!
And when I finish this journey? I’ll be leaving with scars.
But sleep now I must. No more tears, only stars…
QWOP, Day 25:
Sleep grips me for another day, but the darkness only ever leads back to that recurring dream. A room, awash with light. It’s there I hear the clicking, constant, rhythmic. And then a scream, a cry, pain and anguish all in one. I awake with the letter Q seared into my waking vision.
Twenty five days and still no closer to understanding what it all means. 
QWOP, Day 24:
Q. Q is for Quite Humiliated. 19.9 steps forward and 19.9 steps back.
W. W is for Woe. Woe is me, a solitary soldier, my nemesis this track and my feet adorned with shoes of +10 to insanity.
QWOP, Day 23:
In the darkest reaches of the night I heard him. Jolly laughter chased by sleigh bells. Amidst the searing red of the track I never saw him, camouflaged, only catching him out the corner of my eye, lowering a small bag of candy to my side.
Another day comfort food would have been my one and only saviour. But there’s only so much food you can smush into a face when it’s planted firmly in the red dust of this torturous track. 

Happy holidays.
QWOP, Day 22:
So close. So close yet so far. Some crazy left a hurdle here from some Olympic event long past and my only thought in that solitary moment of introspection was to ram it with my feet and see what happened. No luck. Perhaps this track is smarter than I gave it credit for. Or maybe feet karate isn’t the best strategy versus a hurdle. Who am I to know? I was never very good at Advance Wars.
Optimists would say this glass is half-full, pessimists that it’s half-empty. Me? I’d tell them this isn’t a glass. There isn’t even a glass remotely involved in this endeavor so what the hell…
QWOP, Day 21:
Three weeks of silence. Of slumber. Of meditation. Three weeks away and now I’m more ready than ever.

This long orange hurdle no longer scares me. My feet are numb to its harsh impact. My face unafraid of sudden and uncalled for greetings. I am ready. More ready than I’ll ever be. Fear me track! FEAR ME! THIS IS IT. MY DAY. MY TIME TO SHINE! ONE FOOT IN FRONT OF THE OTHER UNTIARGGGHHHHHHHHHHHH.

Tomorrow, then?
QWOP, Day 20:
I realised something as I started today, my twentieth day: this long track is a dance floor, a blank canvas for those with over expressive feet. And this? This little thing I do? With the jab and the jive and the WHEE LOOK AT MY ARMS A TUMBLING? That’s a dance party of one, and you should all be envious.
They said I’d never amount to much - that my two left feet were useless - but look at me go, I’m living it UPoh no not again…
QWOP, Day 19:
At times life toys with you, in rare moments where you become self aware, stare down at your legs, and wonder how the hell your brain is managing to guide you along these paved labyrinths. A singular moment before freaking out and hoping you don’t suddenly forget how it all works and fall to your embarrassing doom.
This track is that moment, personified, ad infinitum.
This track that whispers false hopes is that reality come true: like waking to find you really didn’t wear your pants to school/work/of course you’re now standing in a public place and not just, like, your bedroom or something.
Now that I acknowledge it I hope to combat it, facing my feet demons on this long orange road. Admitting you have a problem is the first step to overcoming it, so if you could tell me, please, is my leg’s prognosis really that bad?
QWOP, Day 18:
1 is an odd number.
Not just because they say it is. Who are they, anyway, those number mathemagicians deciding what’s odd and not?
1 is how many minutes I spent moving.
1 is the number of times I fell over today.
1 can also be added onto itself, like all of these failed attempts. 1 + 1 + 1 + 1 + 1+ 1 = about the number of times my arm twisted around in its socket before I crumpled it beneath my body. 
That’s meant to happen, right?
1 is, hopefully, the number of times I’ll have to attempt this track again before it is conquered.