The Last Chance

His face was pale and his breathing sounded as if it had been cut open by a blade, but every turn landed on the line. Not in front of it. Not behind it. On it. In the last twenty meters of the tenth set, Brooks and Lucas were level at the front. Mason was fifth. Hayes suddenly blew the whistle. "Last five meters! Losers do extra work this afternoon!" Everyone accelerated again. Mason's body seemed dragged down by pain and pushed forward by something harder. His left knee could barely extend fully, but his right leg hammered the turf. On the final stride, he threw himself across the line, his shoulder half a body ahead of third place. He was not first. But he did not fall. The field went quiet for one short second.