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chapter one

(Before you read this, please keep in mind I'm not a runner, nor do I know the process of qualification for the Olympics fully-- so I've made my own idea how it's done)


To get through the unexpectedness of life, some people drink profuse amounts of alcohol to de-stress. Others smoke tobacco or cannabis. Some try heavier substances. My addiction stems from the polyurethane created tracks, that urge my mind to succumb to clearance and calming down and escaping for the few hours, I could manage in my day. Is to run, run as far as possible so that no one could ever possibly reach me and try to learn about me. I am an absolute anomaly. Sometimes I feel my place on this earth, on this pathetic form of reality, was to run. Runaway and never look back. When I'm not running, training or even competing; I'm visiting my local pub to speak to the barrister there to pass time before my coach commands me back. Track and field sports run in my family; I was taught from a young age to run, at such a rate that no one could possibly compare to me. Or reach me.

Through childhood, traversing into my adolescents, competitions ran my days; so far that it took me to nationals, where scouts were watching the races. Closely and attentively to the important athletes. This is understandable, as scouts for teams aim to separate the talented runners from the bottom-ranked runners; who hold no potential for their teams. National level or not, it's only about those who peek above the rest. 

It was the summer of 2016, the year of the Rio de Janeiro Olympic games. At home, I sat watching the champions of the world compete against one another in harmony. A feeling of admiration and excitement filled my body, watching as each event started and finished. The shout of the adoring fans in the crowd, the flags of the countries waving and the way each athlete threw their fist or waved to the crowd after doing their country proud is everything I WANT, NEED and DESERVE. Before I could relax for too long, my mother would turn off the tv and I'd go for a run before my training. 

Despite my dedication for years, it wasn't until my third nationals competition that scouts took notice of me. However, it wasn't for the reasons I desired. The 200m event of the summer of 2016 for me, created a whole new world, a world that I hadn't expected. 

Covering my calf and upper arm was the even number 12. It may be a superstition, but having an even number gives a stroke of athlete luck. Next to me stood a lanky blonde with piercing blue eyes, colourful track shoes and the number 11 on his retrospective body parts to my own. "Good luck, legs eleven", I say thinking it suits the tall boy. On the other side of me is a colourful hair lad, that resembled a firetruck and had a messily drawn on 13. How unlucky, everyone knows that the number 13 is very unlucky. " Good luck out there Friday the 13th" once again thinking I made a genuinely funny comment. Looking around I saw many variations of bodies, countries and level of nerves. On the side of the track, stood a couple of boys from the relay event before this one. The stadium began to quiet down as the warning whistle was blown. This warned that an event is about to start. So that those who aren't competing, they should be getting off the track and for the crowd to be quiet so that the athletes can hear the cheap whistle. 

The next whistle is blown, everyone gets into position; all I can hear is my slow heartbeat, the clicks of cameras from all around and the lanky boy hosting the number 11 on his body breathing nervously. I have trained, I'm ready, there is no reason to be nervous. As the scouts got into position and the final whistle is blown, the rest is history. 

My legs travelled fast, the movement was rhythmic and my shoes are perfectly timed. Everything is perfect, as I turned the corner for the last 100m, there was a clear gap between myself and the others. I hope the scouts could see this. But that last 100m brought on my greatest fear. Someone who was matching my speed. In my peripheral vision, the same blonde who raced in the lane next to me was now neck-and-neck with me. This wasn't going to be a draw, that's not how this works. With every last form of energy, I had left and run so fast that as the finish line was crossed I fell hard.