Speed, I am speed, I told myself.
My big run was in five minutes, and I needed to psych myself up.
A mere 5k, but it decided my fate.
I stretched my calves and compulsively retied my Nikes.
Two minutes to go.
I took off my warm-up jacket and headed to the starting line.
Then the race began.
I ran.
I was flying, soaring through the brisk air.
Two miles went by.
Then 2 and a half.
Then 3.
It was crunch time.
I did what I always did at the end of a race; sprint.
But something else happened first.
It was a medium-sized stone, one I hadn’t noticed until it was much too late.
I was falling, falling, falling.
I had blown any chances I may have had.
I was a failure.
If only I could run.

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