He stares at his fingers at the line. His feet were already in the blocks, filled with nervous energy as he waits for the crack of the starting pistol. Go!
He begins slowly, his legs pumping steadily to gain momentum with his arms swinging, higher and higher to face-level as he brings his head up. There were three beside him right now, one in front. He pumps harder and times his jumps over the hurdles perfectly, eventually losing two of his opponents and closing the distance with the lead.
He passes him, but one is still running beside him at the same pace, jumping at the same time he jumps. They're nearing the finish line and he can hear the crowd screaming, but all he can think about is how tired he is, how heavy his legs are, how strong he can be, how he is stronger than this other guy.
Fifty meters. Forty. The other guy's getting tired, he can tell. His mind screams at him as he pushes harder and runs faster. He can win. He's going to win!
He does. And then he trips over his shoes.
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