The Race

Toeing the start line,
Waiting for the waterfall to crash down,
Every muscle in my body tensed in anticipation,
Awaiting the crack of the gun
And the moment that everything changes.

The world disappears;
The shouts of the crowd become but whispers,
As the only sounds that exist are my thoughts, my breath,
And the ever present sound of the competition,
Which swells to an unmistakable roar.

The pounding of feet on the pavement,
The burning and tearing of the lungs,
With each gasp of air that is so rudely dragged into the body,
Refusing to quit;
These are the only sensations that penetrate my mind.

There is only one goal,
One acceptable outcome.
The same vision plays in the head of each exhausted runner,
Myself and my adversary equally motivated
By our shared desire for glory.

To feel the rush that comes with a hard-fought victory.
To know that I poured all that was present
Of my body and my spirit and left it exposed on the track,
Beaten down and ragged, but still determinedly pushing onward,
Knowing that, today, my best was good enough.