Tracks

Running along the white lines on a red cushioned tarmac gives me a sense of power, endurance and the prevalence of human spirit.

The world as I know it, becomes smaller. I remind myself to focus on my heartbeat. With all the determination and strength that my legs can muster, I push forward with the wind on my back.

Already, I can feel my abdomen contorting like knots in a rope. Beads of perspiration roll incessantly across my face. The heat dances on my flesh. I feel like I'm breathing through a straw.

Suddenly a wave of nausea strikes and I hurl all over the grass.

It has been too long since I ran. (I should've known that the tracks never end.)