Breathe. Breathe. Breathe. Breathe
The chant kept ringing through my ear, reverberating to my head. I walked right up to the tracks, muscles strained and my mouth set tight, jaws clenching. I took a breath of fresh air as I reached my lane. Looking around, it was inevitable not to judge the competition. Flashes of spandex, jerseys, and neon shoes were being paraded. It was the voice of the Proctor that eventually led me out of my musings. I shifted in my spot as he droned about the rules, a plethora of “can’t and can do’s.” As I shifted my eyes to each and every one of the girls, I noticed how eerily similar they all looked. Everyone had a glint in their eyes, an almost feral look, and their mouths all strained like mine was before. I know now that it was probably just the adrenaline pumping through my veins that made me see them like dogs clawing to be on top. After the customary pre-race talk, the Proctor told us to get on our lanes. He smiled cheekily at us, told us to loosen our muscles. Easier said than done.
My eyes looked around the field, at the audience watching over us like hawks. That moment before a race is the one that you keep with you forever. It's the flurry of people getting ready, your heightened senses, the blurry mess of the audiences watching over, and the pounding of blood you hear as it courses through you that makes it THE moment.
It is at that moment that an athlete feels complete.
It is how athletes thrive.
A moment of complete fullness that can never be captured by a camera.
A moment only the athletes themselves feel.
And when the bullet barrelled itself out of its coffin I ran to hearts content.
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