She walks to the line with calmness about her as if none of the other contestants exists. One after the other, she meticulously places the toes of her pink and green Nike spikes on the chalk white line on the burgundy track. Slowly, she lowers her arms, chest, and head, ready for the signal. Poised at the ready, not a sound reaches her ears as the hum of excitement and tension permeates her limbs; each part of her body is like a coiled rattlesnake waiting to release and attack. The pistol’s quick crack fractures her clam, and she instinctively erupts in a flurry of motion. The spring breeze whips through her hair. Her competitors fall like warriors in a futile battle. The excited hum is no longer her own while the crowd gazes in astonishment as she approaches the finish line. With a millisecond glance to her left and her right, she reassures herself that no one flanks her. Relief and elation flood her emotions as her spikes glide over the last chalk with line in first place.
She Walks to the Line
May 19, 2009