Ready.
I never really liked myself for who I was. I was never really an aficionado of sports. I wanted to be a musician. I could imagine, right on the spot, experimenting with synthesizers, arranging the greatest tunes known to man. I would go under the nom de plume of something mysterious, misty and magical. DJ Shadow. Probably.
I looked around. A couple of others by my side, in the same position as I am. I wondered what they were thinking. One thing I knew, was that they probably weren't thinking the same things as I did. They were meditating. Focusing on the gold. Making sure they were the one, the one who'd have that je ne sais quoi to beat the rest, to beat the rest, and win the glorious medal, the glorious medal which proved they were the best, the best amongst the rest.
Yet, I was who I was. And the rest were who they were. I couldn't change that if I wanted to. Everyone was counting on me to do something which I wouldn't want to do. Yet, inter alios, I was their pride. I was their national pride. They, my friends, my family, my nation... they wanted to see me win. They wanted to see me prove that this small country of ours wasn't one to be taken lightly of. They wanted to see me prove that this small country of ours were a competitive force amongst the rest. Beat the rest.
Set.
I couldn't do it. I couldn't do it even if my country's lives depended on it. The rest of them, around me. Look at them. They were so full of pride and joy. They were compos mentis, so ready to hold their flags up and run for their country de rigueur. They stood their position, eyes with passion. In each of their hearts, which stood in place beneath athletic wear with their national flag and register number on, a burning apple martini of patriotic apple cider swashed around in a thick, hearty spirit of vodka, topped with a light dazzle of rum which invigorated a driven force striving for accuracy and excellence. What was my raison d'être of being here in the first place? I was completely unlike them. Compos mentis.... non compos mentis, more like.
I stuck semper fidelis to the plans the coach gave me. Stay in the game, stay focused. It didn't last long though. By the time I had reached the soft synthetic material of the track, coup de foudre struck. I sweated ad nauseam. I panicked apropos of almost wanting to call on locum tenens. The pressure which rested on my shoulders were truly to hard to handle. I was crumbling right in front of the crowd and the coach knew it. He was looking at me with desperandum. It was strange. He was always sans souci, and that made him simpatico to me. But now, he wasn't. He was in as much fear and anxiety as me. In a sotto voce, I could hear his distant whimpers. I was his chosen one, out of the few, after all. And still, on the big stage, I could not handle it all.
But there was hope. I could do it. I felt no pain in my joints, no aches in my bones. I was in perfect condition to run the tracks. And I could do it. The coach of mine, he always told me to strive for excellence. I read the Youth Olympics homepage before, and it told me to strive for excellence. My friends who were always along with me, together, we strove for excellence. Che sara sara, comme il faut.
Go.
