I Promise to Walk With You for Half of my Life’s Journey - Chapter 12

The second period of physical education every Wednesday afternoon was a breathing space for most students in Class 7, Grade 12. For Cheng Sutong, however, it was a form of torture.

She wore the same blue and white school uniform as everyone else while sitting on the concrete bleachers under the old plane tree on the east side of the playground. A vocabulary book or a workbook lay open on her knees, making her look like a quiet outsider. Dust flew over the four hundred meter track, accompanied by the thud of basketballs hitting the ground, the sharp whistle of badminton rackets cutting through the air, the physical education teacher’s whistle, and the brief laughter of her classmates.

Initially, she just watched the flying ponytails of the girls skipping rope and the sweat-drenched backs of the boys competing for basketballs. The sunlight was brilliant, and it was so bright that shadows had nowhere to hide. This included the heart in her chest that felt so out of place in this youthful arena. She would unconsciously press her hand lightly against the left side of her chest to feel that irregular pulsation.

An Chuxin appeared at the edge of the playground with her white shirt loosely covered by a sports jacket. Holding a hard-shell notebook, she walked straight across the field and stopped under the plane tree.

Cheng Sutong looked up. In the backlight, An Chuxin’s silhouette was blurred by the sun.

“From today onward, you have your own physical education class.”

She opened the notebook, and Cheng Sutong saw a detailed, handwritten plan inside with neat handwriting and clear entries.

Phase 1: Adaptive Breathing Training (April to May)

• • Goal: Establish an abdominal breathing pattern and decrease resting heart rate by 5% to 10%.

• • Content:
    • • Seated Breathing Practice: Inhale for four seconds, hold for two seconds, and exhale for six seconds for ten sets per session.
    • • Walking and Breathing Synchronization: Walk slowly on flat ground with two steps per inhale and two steps per exhale.
    • • Light Upper Body Activity with Breathing: Raise hands to shoulder height, hold the position, and regulate breathing.

Next to each entry were small notes written in pencil: “Focus on neck and shoulder relaxation,” “Observe lip color,” and “Record subjective fatigue level.”

“This is,” Cheng Sutong’s fingertips touched the page.

“I consulted your primary physician and created this based on physical rehabilitation materials,” An Chuxin said while closing the notebook and looking at her. “Cheng Sutong, the essence of physical education is not running and jumping. It is learning how to coexist with your body, starting with your breath.”

She stepped back and signaled for Cheng Sutong to stand up.

“Now, we will start the first item.” An Chuxin stood straight and pressed one hand lightly against her own abdomen. “Place your hand here. Feel the abdomen rise during inhalation and contract during exhalation. Do not use force; simply feel it.”

Cheng Sutong followed suit. Beneath her palm was the fabric of her uniform and her own thin body. Around them were shouting teenagers, yet they stood in the shade of the tree performing the quietest and most fundamental exercise.

“Inhale. One, two, three, four.”

Cheng Sutong followed the command and felt the air slowly fill her lungs.

“Hold. One, two.”

“Exhale. Six, five, four, three, two, one.”

They completed ten cycles. The world narrowed down to the rhythm of breathing. Strangely, when her attention was fully focused on this, the stifling sensation in her chest seemed to ease slightly.

“Very good.” An Chuxin pulled a silver stopwatch from her jacket pocket. “Now, we will measure your resting heart rate.”

Her fingers rested on Cheng Sutong’s wrist. Her touch was cool and incredibly distinct. It felt like a faint electric current traveling through the skin directly to the heart, and Sutong held her breath.

“Do not be nervous,” An Chuxin said while looking down at the stopwatch. “Breathe normally.”

For one minute, the second hand ticked as the heartbeat drummed beneath her fingertips. In the distance, a boy made a three-pointer and cheers erupted, but An Chuxin filtered out all the noise. She focused only on the pulse beneath her hand.

“Seventy-four,” she announced and recorded the number in her notebook.

From then on, the spot under the plane tree during Wednesday’s physical education class became their fixed training coordinate. The training content progressed slowly. They moved from seated breathing to walking in sync, from simply raising hands to holding a dictionary as a light weight for thirty seconds, and even practicing leg extensions on a bench to simulate climbing stairs while counting breaths.

“Teacher, will this be too obvious?” Cheng Sutong asked softly. Some classmates had already begun to look over curiously.

An Chuxin adjusted the angle of her raised arm. “The homeroom teacher is concerned about the health of a student with a special physical condition. Is there a problem with that?”

Her fingers accidentally brushed the inside of Cheng Sutong’s wrist. Beneath the thin skin, the pulse beat at the rhythm prescribed by An Chuxin. At that moment, Cheng Sutong felt it was a form of synchronization. She was learning how to make her heartbeat move in frequency with this person’s commands.

During a break in training, An Chuxin suddenly asked, “Do you envy them?”

Cheng Sutong looked toward the track where a boy was gracefully clearing a high jump bar. “I used to, but I do not anymore.”

“Why?”

“Because they can run, but I,” Cheng Sutong turned to look directly into An Chuxin’s eyes. “I have a physical education teacher who designs even my breathing rhythm for me. That is a luxury greater than jumping high.”

The wind blew through the plane tree leaves. An Chuxin turned her face away, and Sutong saw her ears turn slightly red. A second later, she flipped through her notes as if nothing had happened. “Rest is over. The next item is balance training.”

The process was incredibly tedious. Sometimes Cheng Sutong found it absurd. While her classmates were challenging their physical limits, her greatest achievement was merely holding a dictionary for five seconds longer than she did previously.

One cool afternoon, the training moved to balance exercises. She stood on one leg with the other toe lightly touching the ground to maintain balance while controlling her breathing. Cheng Sutong’s center of gravity shifted, and An Chuxin instantly reached out to steady her elbow.

“Bend your knee slightly. Fix your gaze on a point in front of you.” Her voice was very close, and her breath brushed against Cheng Sutong’s ear.

After steadying herself, Cheng Sutong did not immediately withdraw her hand. She asked softly, “Teacher, do you think these things are really useful?”

An Chuxin released her hand and took a half step back. Her gaze fell on Cheng Sutong’s cheeks, which were slightly flushed from the exercise.

“They are useful,” she replied briefly. She pulled a piece of paper from her notebook, which was a photocopy of Cheng Sutong’s most recent cardiopulmonary function assessment. Several key indicators were circled in red with arrows pointing toward a slowly rising trend line.

An Chuxin handed the paper to her. “In medical terms, usefulness is found in data. But for you, usefulness means something else.” She paused while seemingly choosing her words carefully. “It is making you feel that your body is not an enemy. It is a subject you can learn to dialogue with, even if that dialogue is very slow and very light.”

Cheng Sutong gripped the paper. She finally understood. These exercises were not curing a disease; they were rebuilding a relationship. It was a relationship with herself and this fragile life. An Chuxin was the guide in this reconstruction and the person building a bridge between her and the rest of the world.

As the training session neared its end, a fine rain began to fall. The students on the playground scattered toward the teaching building. An Chuxin closed her notebook and said, “That is all for today.”

Cheng Sutong looked up at the rain and then at the empty track.

She suddenly said, “Teacher, can I try to walk half a lap? I want to use the breathing method we practiced.”

“You may. I will walk on the outside, and if the rhythm is wrong, I will stop you.”

They stepped into the rain at a pace slower than a normal walk while following the white inner line of the track. Cheng Sutong focused all her attention on her breathing: two steps per inhale and two steps per exhale. The rain dampened her eyelashes and the shoulders of her uniform, but her heart functioned steadily under the rhythmic commands.

An Chuxin walked half a step to her right without an umbrella. She held a stopwatch, and her gaze frequently shifted to Cheng Sutong’s profile and neck to observe the rise and fall of every breath. Her presence acted as a barrier that shielded Cheng Sutong from the rain and from any anxiety that might strike.

They walked half a lap, which was two hundred meters. By the time they reached the finish line, Cheng Sutong’s breathing was slightly rapid, but her heart rate was not out of control. She stopped and turned around to look at the misty playground and the equally damp An Chuxin beside her.

A sense of victory spread through her chest.

An Chuxin pressed the stopwatch, and her voice was devoid of emotion. “You improved by twenty-one seconds.” However, Cheng Sutong saw that when she recorded it, she drew a small asterisk next to the number.

The rain began to get heavier. An Chuxin tucked the notebook under her jacket and said, “Let us go back.”

The two walked side by side toward the teaching building. Under the eaves, An Chuxin naturally raised her hand and brushed away a damp plane tree leaf that had landed on the top of Cheng Sutong’s head.

As she wrung the rain from her jacket, she said, “Next Thursday, if the weather is good, we can try increasing the weight to two books.”

“Okay.”

At that moment, Cheng Sutong realized that physical education was no longer a forty-five minute period she was excluded from. It was a private, quiet, and hardworking time and space in the midst of a noisy youth that belonged only to her and An Chuxin.

The silhouette guiding her breathing under the tree, the footsteps accompanying her through the rain, and the pen drawing an asterisk next to the data all allowed her to truly touch the feeling of being alive.

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