Race

This is a continuation of one of my earlier write-ups. Having already reflected upon competitive spirit , I find myself again in a new competition. This is a self-fight. I was very much convinced that I do not have to enter it favoring the short-term benefits. Nevertheless, I ended there. A dull morning, and I was unaware of the track length or my opponents. Initially I was marked and then sent into the ready-room. I was tested a bit, given some synthetics and then turned upwards and moved to the race. I was greeted by my fellow coaches. And then it began. I don’t think I remember much of the first half, until I was repeatedly called to look at the lap board. I couldn’t feel myself. The final whistle blew, I answered it feebly. It had ended. I was shuddering. I was frozen to the core . Do I call for help? I could see help beside me, but I couldn’t call. The help acknowledged it. My body couldn’t take it anymore. I started moving in every direction until I was rushed back into the ready-room with a heat-tube. I clung on it for hours, until I could feel my feet. The veins in my hands burned. My mother and father made my heart steadfast and repeatedly assured me that there was nothing to worry about. Skipping on all of the healthy talk I received on my way back home, I survived. It was all about surviving at the end. Unless, of course, it was never a race at all.