You feel the sunlight burn your arms as you step out into the open to face the crowd that never looks at you. The smell of burnt hotdogs and stale popcorn fill the air and all of a sudden your senses are more aware. Sounds of, “Go Team!” and “Lets Bull-Dogs!” swarm into your ears creating a ringing sound that never goes away. Every step you take on the concrete causes your spikes to scrape, knowing that they are ready to race. You get in your lane and stare at the jagged rubber chunks died red, covering the ground. “Ready”, says the announcer, you firmly press your pink chipped nail polished hand into the ground leaving an imprint on your palm. Your foot pushes against the green rubber covering the dulled metal. Spikes digging into it getting a grip on the present, what was happening right now, and now all of a sudden you snap into reality. “Set”, thought rush through your head. Why and I Doing this? I’m never good enough. I just want to make Coach proud of me for once. I raise my butt in the air signaling that I'm ready to go and ready to finish at the same time. “Go”, the smells of popcorn disappear when I push off; the screams for other teams fade into the background as I'm focusing on my form. The only thing burning isn’t from the sun, its from my muscles moving me so fast I cant concentrate on anything but finishing, all of those days of 92 degree practices have brought me to this moment, they have brought me here, and now, it’s time to shine.