The sweat poured down my body as I continued to run. Every over-glorified step made me grow ever wetter, ever ranker. I knew I could not stop until I had reached the end. Every pore was like the gaping mouth of the Nile, releasing more liquid than I could ever imagine. I knew I had to win this for my team, as I was the last one to run. I did not know how much longer I could keep up at the pace I had set, as every step made it harder for the next. My clothes had absorbed more moisture than any of my practices had supplied, and my body was not used to this extra girth. I knew the end was near, but as I reached the final stretch, disaster struck. The sweat of the other runners ahead of me had churned up the earth beneath my feet to a muddy slick nearly impossible to balance on. My feet betrayed me as I fell face-first into the bleak abyss. I had failed my team. The race was lost.