I stare down the silver pistol, cocked.
And feel all the weight.
Everything is on the line.
All the blood shed,
Tears that burned,
All come to mind.

And yet, I'm standing here with aches in both my legs,
Worries in my head,
And doubt in my eyes.
For why do I keep on coming back,
If this just starts my cries.

Well starting is just that,
The pain staking, nerve racking, make it or break it moment,
That matters most.

Why start if you can't finish?
When do you know when your pushing too hard?
When is it time to stop thinking and just do it?
I guess that's now, for you can hear it.

That loud, menacing, ear-splitting crack.
A blank ringing brightly in the air,
And then it's all gone,
Forced back.
All emotions stripped,
And all the reluctance ripped, away.

I'm used to the pounding,
Constant earth smashing,
And gravel cracking-
With mounds of soft dew grass.
Even the burning air that fills my chest.
And for these few minutes,
I can't rest.
My emotions are long gone,
As I'm moving along through what hurts the most.

Memories of the past, and rumors of the present.
But what my mind contains is the death of me.
For the only person holding back I can't see.
And as I'm struggling, gasping, as if its my last ration of air.
I slow to look around.
And think about how far I've come.
I think about nothing but the love and solitude of being in my place.
And I have won.
For once,
This is my race.