Okay. You can do it. It's the final stretch.
You're over halfway there and the entire one point seventy-five miles before hand have led up to this intriguing moment. Your coach is sending a concoction of motivating words and commandments your way and greasy, salty sweat has accumulated on your fully exposed forehead. The sun beats on your innocent runner flesh and the smell of french fries is nauseating... though deep-fried and vinegar-sodden potatoes sounds pretty good right about now. No. You must focus on the road ahead, young Grasshopper. The miles you've endured before this won't matter until you finish the uphill, at least most of the time, battle. If you quit now, that time on the clock in pulsing red numbers will just increase and persist to mock you.
It's all about beating your Personal Record. And maybe that Girl with the Dumb Pink Ponytail in front of you that you were forced to stare at the entire race.
And though oxygen has failed to reach its primary destination in your lungs, your vision is clouded with dehydration, and you forgot to eat or drink before the early-morning run, the filthy green portapotties are in clear sight and an exasperated sigh escapes your weary lungs. The well-deserved 400 Meter Mark is sloppily sprayed in neon-orange paint on a large oak tree just in front of you. The familiar sound of angels caroling and victory bells chiming is music to your ears as your dull spikes claw more ferociously into the soft ground.
Yes! Yes! The madness is nearly over- just one final "lap around the ol' track" 'till you finally meet the soft and mangled carpet of the Finish Line. You could possibly collapse from dehydration and die on the spot at any given moment, but your coach, team, and fans- okay, let me rephrase that- and Mom and Dad cheer you on to your final step. And, oh, the joy that succumbs you once passing Girl with the Dumb Pink Ponytail is beyond compare to any of life's victories.
The sweet taste of victory is quickly replaced with the ripe stench of loss... the Girl with the Dumb Pink Ponytail is actually a lap ahead of you, and you have yet another 400 meters to go. Better luck next time.
YOU ARE READING
Tomorrow
PoetryThe following is a compilation of poems and short-stories written by yours truly in the past years. They have been edited for any grammar mistakes but, as stated, these have been left mostly untouched from their original forms, and many have been wr...
