Part III:

You stand behind your precious blocks,

Which you lovingly placed down only Seconds,

Moments, Instants before

On the dull red track.

It's your first time ever running this event,

The 100 meter sprint.

It is not an event you love,

Nor is it an event you hate,

You don't believe in your wildest dreams,

That you shall win.


But, in the depths of your heart, you want to

You always want to…

Winning… No matter against whom…

Winning is everything.

And so, your heart beats

More furiously with every breath.

And so, the butterflies,

That have suddenly awakened in you,

Flutter all the harder.

A classmate of yours,

Stands and keeps asking you questions.

You understand that it is her first meet,

And that she doesn't understand that you need you quiet


You send her away anyway, with a cold glare and an angry word

You breathe deeply,

Close your eyes,

Imagine the only place that brings you happiness,

Imagine yourself racing down the hill,

Skiing your long, graceful turns,

And the butterflies go back to sleep

And your heart beats slower.

The man with the gun,

He says a joke to try and calm you down

You laugh inwardly, and love him for it,

Even though all know it won't do any good.

You wish everyone good luck,

Even though all wish the others to fall

You get on your blocks, and get ready.

You peek a look at the precious finish line,

And then relax your head once more, letting it hang downwards.

The man,

He says Set, and you push yourself up.

For the first time, you are slightly confused.

How fast should you start?

In all your other events, you don't start as fast as you can…


This is a direct sprint,

No jumping involved.

In that split second, you decide

That you don't care how fast you should go

You won't win anyway


You hear the gun,

You push off the blocks for all your worth

You push the ground away with your feet,

You strain forward

And you run

You run

And you run… faster

You don't see anyone

You look only at the finish line

Suddenly, you see a flash of yellow in the corner of your eye

And that yellow… You know that yellow is another girl

And not just another girl

The other team, the opponent, the enemy,

The one whom you should not let win



You see her, and you think smugly,

'Not a chance, girly.'

You push harder with the energy you had been reserving,

As your body had still felt that this was longer than it was

And you can feel the pleased grimace on your face

You see your head coach,

You see him waiting at the finish line,

A timer in hand

You don't see the finish line,

After all, you aren't looking down

But, you see him.

And you propel your body forward when you pass him



You win.

You've crossed that line, and you've crossed it first

You come back in your lane, and your brain takes over


You think.

'I won?'

You think.


You ask.

And your coach laughs

And says,

"First: Lane 4, with a time of 14.2."

And finally, finally, it kicks in…

"I did it!"

You scream, as you jump up into the air.