My Story Of Atalanta

I speed away. There is nothing faster than my long, bounding stride.. The wind glides next to me, falling into pace with my feverishly pounding legs. That one almost caught me. But no worries now, I am safe. I can leave this world behind in a spray of oak leaves and track equipment. My shoes are no longer new, my baton has been carefully brought back from the depths of my shoe-box, and my heart recently felt flustered.

I will proceed to run. No warning, just bolting. My headstart widens the lead I did not need. Stars glimmer in the night and I blur past. Friends try to stop me, try to understand, try to keep my pace long enough for me to explain. This proves unsuccessful. None can follow the the outstripping speed I have contained. Harnessing whatever power my wild eyes.

Running past you.

Like a gingerbread women.

"Can you catch me?" I throw words past my shoulders. They hit you square in the chest. Knocking your breath out of your lungs. As you gasp rawly against the air, I spurt off into the waves of heat. Humidity bursting like large soap bubbles. The heat from the pavement reminds my feet that they are without protection. I scamper down the side of the mountain and avoid sharp stones. You are left behind on the savanna, your eyes tracing my footsteps.

I stop for an apple which glimmers happily at me. The redness captures my gaze, reminding me of a sunset. I eat it. Then continue. Glancing back to avoid the blaring sunlight I catch a glimpse of you. My shadow, cast long and harshly on the badlands dusty floor, beats you. I see another apple. I stop, and pick it up. I can see my reflection in its depths, tinted red and glimmering with sweat. I devour it. And continue.

This time when I glance back at you, you are nearer. You shout my name, urging me to stop. I want to so badly. But I know if I do stop- you will surely just sprint past. My heart suspects a trick. Then another apple plops down on the sand with a satisfying "Thunk". I glance back, and see you closing in on me. I am so tired, and the apple looks so good. Like a Honeycrisp. So I grab it and eat it. The juice dribbles down my chin as I bite down. Turning around in defeat I see you sprint to the finish.

Finally, a man who can hold his own in a race.