Race day

Anticipation coursed through the crowd, a mexican wave of adrenaline beating down on the line of hunched runners. Drinks slopped, wrappers were dropped. Children were hoisted on shoulders, the poeple behind craning to catch a glimpse. The last race of the day. The final of the mixed 4 by 100 metre mixed relay

He checked his watch, fastidious as ever. He raised the pistol, painting a silvery silhouette against the clear blue sky.

Muscles tightened, fingers crossed chests. Beads of sweat trails down anxious foreheads.

One last check of the watch, and he spoke.

"Ready...."

The roar of the crowd settled to a low rumble.

"Set....."

Heads dropped. Feet shifted on their blocks, barely holding themselves back. Metal clinks on the tarmac. For a moment, time slowed just a little. A brief instant of silent focus.

A sharp crack split the air.

The runners burst from their blocks, arms carving slashes through the air. Feet pounded into the tarmac, pushing for every inch.

The crowd's roar heightened in time with the runners' pace, forcing them onward. As the line split the roar shifted, wavering as their favourites made or lost ground.

Faces and bodies strained to breaking, they forced every ounce of energy out of their bodies, their goal approaching.

The last few inches come, and cold metal meets skin, bodies relaxing, another gaining pace.

The roar just keeps on pushing.