Cracking the Shell

I scrambled up the iron frame of the garden bench to see what was resting on the seat. Wedged right between two weathered wooden planks was a whole dried peanut shell. It felt tough and fibrous under my boots. I dropped into a firm stance and drove a sharp downward fist straight into the seam. The husk snapped open with a crisp pop. Inside were two smooth, firm nuts. I bit right into the first one—dry, crunchy, and packed with rich, toasted flavor. Proper fuel for training. I stashed the other one against the bench slat for my next run.