I hugged my legs tighter and watched on as the junior kids made their way through the 200 metres through the finishing line. The senior runners took refuge in the shade of the trees and eagerly anticipated the finish. I was too busy burying my head in my hands to notice who had won. Then it was the turn of the seniors.
I was initially dumbfounded as to which lane, but I found an empty lane where the others had taken theirs. The sixth lane put me visually in front, and I found myself thankful. A placebo never hurt nobody right?
The command was given to get ready. My hands were felt sticky on the ground, my arms locked (yeah bad move) at the elbows and a million things ran through my mind. The second command was given. Butts up. My head hung on the perch of my spine, and the butterflies are starting to find their way up my stomach. I grazed my feet on the red track, the spikes catching the grip and emanating a raspy scratch. Then the clapper went off.
The first few steps had already put me past the only guy I had in my sights. If the placebo was working, then holy shit it's working. I picked up the pace through the curve, left arms and limbs waving further, the steps hectic and the breathing more hectic. I've been through a lot of hectic stuff though, and this time the crowd at the grandstands took the cake, going manic with enthusiasm and noise. The home straight was looming ahead, and the empty track of red almost glistened against the sunlight.
It's all for the taking now.
Then a silhouette came into view from the corner of my left. Syakir emerged from one of the inner lanes, arms and legs pumping through into the lead. Following suit in another lane was Hadi, the green from his shirt almost protuberant against the swelteringly bright sun. He too, was running on pretty hard, barely keeping up behind my teammate, if not at all. The gap between us was about to open up, and the lactic acid was starting to engulf my body.
But all this was expected of course. The two were naturally dogged athletes, Syakir with the built physique and Hadi with the persistent stamina one would marvel at. I would, anyway. But I had good reason to believe I could take them on. Syakir had come into the race at the back of a 400m dash with three other guys in the relay event, and could only continue going on for so long, and Hadi, as good as he was, was only a junior stepping up to the senior events. I only had on them a pair of long legs and and an illusion of the lead fast evaporating, but I had to make it count.
I pumped on even harder, spurred on by that micron of a chance to get a gold. The crowd was going amok, their predictions on the eventual winners being made vocally clear through my right ear. I willed myself on past Hadi and with only Syakir to beat. The adrenaline was now starting to take over and my mind was turning into a frenzy, and ten final metres stretched ahead.
At this point, a 1-2 Wind finish was nothing but the best result, regardless of who came first. But per my overly competitive spirit, I would run myself to the ground to try and snatch pole position, only to fail to do so by a mere couple of seconds in second place. What's 400 metres to this guy, anyway, I thought. He's quite the remarkable athlete.
I avoided the trailing ribbon of red finishing line, before coming to a stop and bending over in prostration, quietly thanking Allah. I turned ahead to Syakir, who, on his knees and hunched over, looked half-dead from six hundred metres of sprinting. I made my way over and helped him on his feet. We made our way back to the stands, exhausted.
Two more events to go, I thought. Two more shots at taking gold.
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