My chest heaves,
desperately trying to remember
what it feels like to have air in my lungs.

My muscles scream,
feeling more like lead than legs
because of the acid pumping through them.

My head swims,
the deep thump of my pulse
beating in my temples like the bass of a drum.

And just when I think I can't go anymore,
I hear the coach's voice.
"Don't you dare stop now. You've come too far to give in to your body."

I regain clarity.
Make out the sound of spikes
drumming the rubber track.
The sound of quick, hard breaths
escape the competitors behind me.

The last 100 meters come into view.  
The crowd in the stands go by in a blur,
their roars deafening.

50 meters left
40
30
20
10
none.

Crossing the finish line,
I feel a hand on my back.
Congratulations and Great Jobs all muddle together into ambient noise.
I collapse into the grass in the center of the track.
Slowly, I catch my breath
and a rush of victory washes over me.