Time Trial

5km: 16:41. So the time trial went well. But that extra two seconds would have really given me a buzz. Two seconds. Running into the stadium at the World Championships. The crowd erupts. Your legs nearly buckling as you stagger forward from the concrete onto the track. The final lap of the track. Sly glances sideways to check that it is actually happening. 200m. 150m. Counting down the lines on the track. The final 100m. The line approaching. Your chest bursting in the final three strides, but the line. Nothing happens. Nothing happens. And then. Relief, joy, your family in the crowd, crying and laughing, the early mornings and dark nights finally worth it. That overwhelming feeling of complete satisfaction. But is that really how it is? I don't know. How does that feel? Is it possible to imagine?

I have imagined it so many times, dreamt about it for so long. Every year, a championship comes round. Every year, I watch intently. I haven't made it. Not even close. Not even fairly close. But every year, I start again. Fighting for that extra two seconds. Chipping away. If I could go on forever, I could maybe get there. One day. But forever is something I don't have. It would take a near-miracle to even get there. But until that miracle is buried – deep beneath, well probably old age and that crazy notion that there may someday be something else to think about, we start again.

Another day, another year, another two seconds....