The only thing I know about this is he’s my friend, and I’m here for him. Beyond that, I’m clueless — what type of shoes, the texture of the track, the warm-up regiment, the pacing per lap, what it’ll mean if he doesn’t make it, what it’ll mean if he does.
I notice that he’s already started. No loud snap from a ceremonial cap gun, no roaring fans, just a “go” from his coach, and he’s catapulting around the red oval. Such effort, sacrifice, determination, drive, for this.
Five minutes later he’s back where he started, and so far from it.