My heart beating loudly in my chest is the only sound I can here. The air, whipping past my face, tries to keep in line my inertia precisely I just press on harder and harder. As I execute my turn to go into the straight-away, the close man in the relay team comes into sight. I knife thrust my legs harder and harder, but I cannot make them move any faster. in that respect is only one hundred meters left to go out front the instant I have to pass the billy goat the conterminous runner. As I am speeding down the channel like a jet about to lift off, I see the fans cheering in my peripheral vision but I remain focused on my objective onwards of me. I move closer and closer to the red zone, outright counting my steps and pacing off the distance in my mind to the sprinter ahead of me. I ready myself and keep tattle myself be patient, wait then .....Go, I yell as he harnesses his adrenaline for a good start. I again have to make another critical, split second decision. When should I give him the baton? There can be no mistakes on the hatful off. If I miscalculate my steps, it could be disastrous for the team. As I sprint at his newly energized heels, I yell Stick!
He reaches his arm back in a robotic-like manner and I slam the baton in his hand, so he impart not lose a handle on it. It is a successful hand-off and my body jars, as I try to bestow myself to a quick stop. My journey is over but the abutting runners has just begun.
        Track is a big part of my lifetime and it holds much more significance to me than just running. I would not even...
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