Reaching the starting line with an anxious breath, all my eyes can see is a never-ending loop of continuous lines around the jet-black tartan track. My spikes kiss the ground, attracted to the track, their perfect match. As I scan the landscape my body is taken over by a breeze of crisp air as my eyes begin to water as I look out to see the imperfect patterns of the track move around in a circle.

My heart beats up against my chest in a smooth and rhythmic pattern. My body twinkles with little butterflies in the pit of my stomach; the nerves are taking over. Looking to my left and my right, I notice my competition beginning to prepare for the race. Shaking her hands and legs trying to make sure her muscles are loose. She puts a serious smirk on her face; we lock eye contact, her sharp hazel eyes look into my deep brown eyes, we both know we are about to put our bodies to the ultimate test. As I stand behind my blocks, I push my chest forward and perk my lips into a circle, to let in as much refreshing air as I possibly can. I begin to push off the track with enough force under my feet to push me into the air, jumping.

Suddenly the stadium becomes silent as the runners kneel down pressing spikes into the blocks. At this moment, each set of feet is at an angle and each back is arched, with shoulders pushed forward. The nerves are visible on each face. Each set of hands begins to press onto the track’s ridged and bumpy texture, becoming tattooed by its patterns. All heads are tucked, chins pressed onto chests. Runners can see nothing in this moment. All the bodies begin to rise in a formation.

Anxiously waiting for the starting gun to scream out its intimidating boom, the runners stay in their arched positions, with their feet on the blocks. The trigger releases its booming blast. The runners aggressively leave the starting blocks with power under their feet. Spikes scratch the jet-black track as the runners’ legs swiftly rotate in a fast pace as if preparing for winged takeoff. The salty sweat drips down every runner face gracefully. I can almost taste it, feeling the pain as each quickly tries to become the winner.

The pack zooms towards the finish line. Each runner’s eyes convey desire to taste the sweet victory. Every runner puts in all the blood, sweat and tears to get to this moment. The fans explode with cheers as the runners extend their legs and push their bodies forward, inch by inch moving closer to victory. Crossing the finish line, every runner wakes up from the trance that running on the track creates. The winner begins to clinch their fist and kneel, bowing their head down knowing that all the painful hard work paid off. Allowing tears to fall down, showing happiness, she begins to run her victory lap showing off to the crowd of adoring fans. As the ones who fell just shy of victory look back at the track with admiring eyes, knowing that the race is never over.