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Track Meet
My mind begins to plot my pace
As I anxiously await the start of my race.
I look around at those I have to beat
As I walk to the start line with my heat.
The gun goes off with a bang
That bellows through the air as it rang.
I sprint forth, staying away from the back,
My legs pounding away on the track.
I see another ahead of me, in front.
I seek this runner's position, a hunt
I partake in, I sprint to get ahead.
I overtake him, with urgency I tread.
My lungs are on fire, my vision is blurry.
My legs feel weak and dire, I have to hurry.
I kick with all my might at the final bend.
I sprint to stay in front as I reach the end.
I walk forward and take a breath,
As I regain the energy from the depths
Of my soul and of my mind I expended,
The limits of my ability I extended.
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This is a poem I wrote after a track meet.
In the fourth line I say "As I walk to the start line with my heat."
In track and field, many times there are more runners than can run at once on the track, so they are split into different "heats." People in the same heat are usually similar in speed.