the worst in people

It's funny how track brings out the worst in people.

We spend days, months, even years, breeding a hate so fierce for whomever has the misfortune of stepping to the line beside us that day. In the warmup, each step is in spite, ready to rip the throats out of anyone daring enough to challenge us. We step to the line, and all civilized thought dissolves. Carnal instinct takes over, and we become our true selves. There is no love on a track; only varying degrees of hatred.

As the gun fires, so starts the hunt. Not a journey for self-fulfillment, but rather one for the satisfaction of the kill. We seek blood, and weaken the opponent through any means necessary; whether it be the classic elbow to the kidney, or the preemptive pushing of the pace. This is not a race to the finish, but one to the death.

As we come around, our coach screaming out splits, we don't hear a sound. The white hot lust with which we pursue is too great, and no force on this God-forsaken planet could slow us now. We must taste of victory, as there is no loss worth attaining.

The pack separates, and the real battle begins. Neither of us will give an inch, nor do we expect it. Our lives hang in the balance, and only one of us will come out of this alive.

The pretenders fall back, those clinging to the strength of the leaders as a way of prolonging their fated demise. It is impossible to accept death simply as something destined to befall us all, yet to these it comes much too quickly.

The bell rings, and we go for the jugular. Every ounce of energy is called upon, and pain flows from every orifice. Our bodies are numb, the need to live driving us forward. Each fateful meter brings us closer to the end, the climax to this bloodthirsty escapade.

As we round the turn, we're down and out, Darwin's rejects. We resign ourselves to death, and even God turns a cold shoulder to our misery.

But we live on. At our lowest low, from deep inside our being erupts a force so powerful, so truly unbelievable that we are resurrected. We're off the mat and kicking, and he doesn't know what hits him.

We cross the line, completely dead, but fully alive.

It's funny how track brings out the best in people.