“On your marks!”

I no longer race.  This is usually fine but in this moment I miss it so much the muscles in my legs are getting restless, my heart quickened and my breathing shortened.  I just had a flashback.

There was something about the few seconds before a race started that terrified me.  I would have this pre-race routine I wanted to go through in order to prepare myself mentally and physically.  Then, before my routine was complete, there would be this whistle and the competitors must approach the line.  The whistle brought fear and doubt.  Had I trained enough?  Had I rested enough?  Had I drunk enough?  Had I drunk too much?  Were my laces tight enough?  Were they too tight?  Had I…

“On your marks!” interrupted the Starter.

“Aaaagh!”  I thought.  It’s too late.  I can’t do anything about it…the training, the drinking, my laces.  I step up confidently, on the outside, and surgically place my toes behind the curved white line.  My innards have evaporated.  My quads are like wartery party jelly.  I can’t breathe.  My colon ready to give up the ghost.  “Ground…swallow me up…please!”


The shot instantly brings me to my senses and I break away from the startline.  I am in heaven.  With the release comes the ultimate relaxation.  I comfortably make it to the inside of the track first and I’m cruising.  Cruising.  My mind is detached yet clarity reigns.


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