The Race

I had sat at work with my boss watching video footage covering the big race all week, regardless of how busy we were. He had put a hefty wager on the outcome and had become obsessed with the countless videos on YouTube and other online video sites of his preferred champion. We watched her practice, train, and work through all the preliminary obstacles of running her first major race, and she looked good. Maybe good enough to win.

Of course sometimes there were rough patches, patches where she looked tired or exhausted, but she seemed to have overcome the unbelievable pressure of being the only female to compete. And as we watched the videos I would be right there with her, sweating and and breathing, but never fully understanding how it must feel to be the only girl in an all boys competition. She was so brave.

When the big day came - the day when the race would be settled - you could sense the tension of the crowd. So tense that it was palpable. So palpable that you could feel it grow as the crisp morning morphed into a sticky afternoon. So sticky that you could hardly see.

Looking around, each one of the contestants seemed to have a different demeanor, as if some had already accepted defeat and others were wild with confidence, perhaps too inexperienced to know better. And as the start grew nearer I saw a look in her eye; a look I had never seen in those videos - she looked like she knew this was her last chance. She had the feeling that could be summed up by every competitive cliché in the the English language. That's right, girl, it is "Now or never!", "Do or die!", and maybe even "In it to win it!". She knew it and I knew it.

The race began:

She started off with a bit of a lead, something we hadn't seen before. She was known for laying back, perhaps just waiting to pull the strings when the time was right, but not this time, dammit. She burst out of the gate sprinting, going for the glory.

Running hard:

The other competitors did their best to keep up, running with vigor and strength, but she had a ferocity that could not be beat. The people knew it, she knew, and most importantly, I knew it.

The turn:

She bolted through the race of her life, with celebration in her mind, but, unexpectedly, another contestant pulled up on her side. He was apparently the one competitor that had not known who she was.

The stretch:

As the race came to the stretch she went to the next gear, the gear she had famously carried her entire career. It was a gear nobody ever expected, but always knew she had. This gear had pulled her ahead at the race in New York, Ohio, and even recently in Pennsylvania. It was this gear that had kept her confident against the boys. This gear would secure her victory, she thought.

The pull:

She kicked up the dirt and tried to stare down the finish, but her stare didn't hold. As she lunged and heaved her head was pulled to the side, pulled just fast enough to see him blow by. He was kicking harder.

The break:

He was running away as she ran on empty, this causing her legs began to give as the crowd roared for her competitor. It looked as if her body had forgotten functionality as she fell across the line, finishing second. But finishing second had never crossed her mind; not to a male anyway. She had been beaten by females before, yes, but not in this type of race.

The fall:

As he whipped through victory lane, waving, almost smiling, she fell. Her legs had left her and she braced for the dirt. She knew the end was near now for what seemed like forever, but it was just in a blink on a horse's eye that she had lost all control. She hit the ground and looked up in her last thought. Never had she imagined to be beaten by a male, let alone Big Brown.

The change:

Help came to her aid in the last moments, putting her out of her misery as she glared into the distance, attempting to mute out the sound; the sound of change.

I looked to my boss as he watched them euthanize her. Then I looked to our new champion, Barack Obama.

The race was over.