What 400 meters really feels like.

Here is another of my creative writing assignments on description. I wrote it based on my exact feelings before and during a race. So for those of you who have never raced, here is a taste of what it feels like. (which by the way it feels like a bunch of crap in the most exhilarating and freeing way possible.) I am taking this in to be edited tomorrow, so it is not final, but here is my first draft:


(Insert Title I have not yet come up with here).

One hundred meters of red-stained rubber distances her from the start line. The weightless steps, drawing her closer, counteract the heaviness keeping her from breathing too deeply. Hot, thick air hovers around her furrowed brow and tightened lips. She can already feel the burning from the fiery orb against her bare, freckled shoulders and the sting of sweat melding with runny mascara in the creases of her squinted eyes. Approaching the line, she feels the dry, bulge in her throat bob when she tries to swallow. Tensing, she clenches the pink, metallic baton in her clammy palm as her empty stomach delves deeper into the hollow pit of her knotted abdomen.
The tepid breeze lifts her gaze. To the right she sees a filled stadium and lined fences, but hears nothing other than the pounding of her heart. Turning her head, she sees the tensed, anxious muscles, giving away months of training, just like her own. Her gaze falls; fixated on the speckled line she attempts another deep breath. The relief just makes it to her throat when the beat of her heart is interrupted by a familiar voice.
“Ladies, take your marks.”
Stepping back, she feels a wave of nausea leaving her lightheaded and dazed. She plants her foot, leans forward, and strains to keep open eyes. The gun goes off. Feeling her heart skip a beat, she takes off. All feeling is lost; nothing remains but the ground left to be covered. As she rounds the first corner dread and fear begin to take control, but quickly she pushes them back. Now it’s the straightaway. All too quickly it passes by, and with the final curve she feels the burden of exhausted, wasted legs. She lines up side-by-side with seven other entranced bodies. One hundred meters of red-stained rubber distances her from the finish line.

- Christina