"What the hell do you mean?" Kevin asked, appalled by the statement.

He had just won for Christ's sake.

Her frown deepened at his tone. "You're too obsessed with winning. It's all too apparent in the stiffness in your stride, you don't truly enjoy the moment."

Kevin scowled at her words. No one had ever mentioned stiffness in his form, in fact Coach had complimented him many times on the balance and focus his form portrayed.

Michael came up from behind him. "Listen, Ms. Buddhist, I'm not sure if your eyes are working well but he just won the race by a mile. What's wrong with being obsessed with winning if he reaches that goal? That's the whole point of it all!"

Willow's eyes locked on to Michael, taking in his impressive build with clear distaste. "Whatever. I have a race to prepare for," she said before marching away.

"Dude, that's Willow," Kevin said as she got out of earshot.

Michael's brows rose like a pole vaulter. "That's Willow?" He eyed her retreating figure, recognition sparking his eyes as he scaled up her tiny body to her trademark curly red hair. "I don't approve. My experienced eyes tell me that she's trouble personified."

Kevin took his words with a grain of salt. Had his trouble sensors been reliable, he wouldn't have such an impressive lineup of toxic exes. Instead, he focused on her words. Too obsessed with winning?

Was that even possible? Surely she was just spouting nonsense.

Yet...

"Hey, great race Kevin!" a voice called, interrupting his pondering.

He turned around to a sight of a smiling Shalissa. She wore the same Eastwood High track gear that he wore with gold streaks through her hair to match the logo.

"Thanks," he replied, trying to sound cool in her presence. "And good luck in yours, it's next right?"

She nodded. "Yep. I've been waiting a long time for a rematch with that Willow girl. She really killed me last time."

"Pfft." Michael sounded, draping a hand around Kevin as he once again butted in. "She just said some woke crap about not running a race to win. I'm sure you'll beat her this time around, Lissa."

Lissa? 

Kevin was 110% sure this was the first time Michael had even talked to her and here he was, fearlessly addressing the most popular girl in school by a nickname he made up.

Shalissa chuckled good-naturedly. "Hopefully. Something tells me she'll easily make it to Nationals, so beating her consistently means I will too."

Kevin looked over at Willow warming up on the other side of the area. She wore a grim expression, her boredom evident from the tedious stretching. "Something tells me she'll make it well past Nationals."

They didn't have to wait long for the attendants to come and escort the senior girls to the starting line. Kevin leaned in, watching the lineup intently.

All of the girls seemed appreciative of the generous applause they received except for Willow, who didn't even acknowledge the crowd when her name was called. 

"On your mark!"

All of the girls seemed loose as they obeyed the instruction, the big crowd producing no hitches in the skilled lineup. Kevin whistled softly, admiring the professionalism and poise that each girl displayed as they transitioned to the set call.

"Bang."

The girls shot into action, their arms a blur as they eased into their strides. With them, the crowd reawakened, cheering on the brave fighters. 

During his race, Kevin hadn't noticed the sheer magnitude of the crowd's roar but now, as a spectator among them, the excited cheers as their favorites journeyed down the battlefield sent a shiver down his spine.

By the time they reached the curve, it was clear Willow was in front, despite being placed in the 7th lane. The crowd's pitch rose as she flew down the curve, her stride an anomaly amongst the pack.

She ran around the bend a bit inefficiently, giving back ground to the chasing pack but as she once again hit the straightaway on the last 100 meters her pace caused her to pull away, setting the result in stone.

Kevin was yet again mesmerized by her effortless stride and blissful expression. The others seemed to be fighting against the headwind compared to her, flowing forward like an unstoppable wave that the ocean parted for.

Meanwhile, Shalissa was locked in a battle for second against a girl whose name Kevin couldn't recall. In contrast to most Shalissa races, Kevin could see the massive exertion as she fought to maintain her silver medal position.

Next to her, her opponent held a similar face of straining exertion, the two held abreast by an invisible string of fate.

With twenty meters left, Willow reached the finishing line and Shalissa's combatant made a fatal mistake. She started to tense up, throwing off her natural stride as she tried to dig deep and gain more speed than she was currently producing.

Even a rookie athlete with minimal training knew the dangers of abandoning your natural relaxed stride in favor of a tense brute-force approach when challenged with a close finish. Though it may initially feel like you are gaining speed, the lack of technique destroys the rhythm you built, leaving you vulnerable to losing to a more poised runner.

That was the exact scenario that played out on the track, as Shalissa's opponent started to overstride to keep pace, while Shalissa stayed true to her mechanics despite the runner on her hip. As such, Shalissa gradually pulled away right on the line, clearly taking the silver medal.

Michael clapped loudly next to Kevin, the width of his smile threatening to rip the skin off of his face. "You see that, Kevin? That's what I call a winning last push!"

Kevin didn't bother to point out she hadn't exactly won the race instead muttering agreement. 

"Since when were you and Shalissa cool with each other anyway?" he asked, having to shout to be heard over the admiring crowd.

"We talked a bit at the fashion thing Scarlett competed in. She's been greeting me at the track meets since."

Michael's eyes widened. "Woah, Kev. You should totally forget about Willow and aim for her. Everyone knows that the unpopular guy gets with the popular girl to reach the good ending in the movies and books."

Kevin rolled his eyes. "This isn't a movie or book. I'll reach the right ending with my own two feet, thank you very much."

"Don't say I didn't say, I didn't warn ya," he replied in a suspicious sing-song tone.

"Was...was that a Taylor Swift reference?"

Michael turned away so his face wasn't visible. "Of course not."

"Right..."

Kevin began his warmups soon after despite there being a long intermission before his next event, due to the focus shifting back to the field events momentarily.

Michael eventually said he would go look for a place selling drinks and asked what Kevin wanted before leaving. Kevin knew it would be a while until he came back due to his trait of trying to get the numbers of any girls that caught his eye.

After five more minutes of stretching, Kevin convinced himself to approach Willow, who sat unsurprisingly alone against the wall. She had earphones in and her eyes closed as she subtly nodded her head to the music.

"Nice running out there," Kevin said as he reached her.

Willow cracked an eye open, hesitantly pushing the pause button on her phone. "You lost your shadow?" 

"Huh?"

"The guy following you around."

"Oh, that's my best friend, Michael. What's wrong with him?"

Willow sighed. "I told you before I don't like musclehead athletes, and he reeks of one."

Kevin couldn't contain an outburst of laughter at the thought. "That's the most inaccurate description of him I've ever heard."

"Whatever. Do you have something to say or can I get back to my music?"

It took Kevin a second to realize it was a genuine question with no sharpness in her tone. She had a blunt way of talking that could easily be interpreted as rude even when she didn't mean it that way. Maybe that was why she didn't seem to have many friends, if any at all.

Kevin sat down next to her. "Actually, I've been trying to understand what you meant earlier. Are you trying to say that you don't aim to win despite running that fast?"

Willow rolled her eyes as if it was the dumbest question she had ever heard. "Of course I aim to win, as your musclehead friend correctly said that's the point of it all. However, there's a balance a runner needs to have." She looked over at Kevin who leaned forward, waiting for her to continue. She sighed deeply. "Take Usain Bolt for example, before a race he's always loose and even during it. It goes deeper than his showboating, he's enjoying himself while the others are in their head worried about performing and adding unneeded pressure on themselves. This doesn't mean he isn't trying to win but he isn't taking himself too seriously either."

Kevin digested her words. It sounded a lot like the euphoric feeling he felt at practice when it was only him on the track, racing against himself and taking in every little detail as he ran. But how could one possibly expect to do that when facing competition?

"But what about when you're in a close contest? I'm pretty sure that urge to win is a big advantage over someone who is more lackadaisical."

"That's what people tend to think. That breaking their limitations mid-race to coast to a last-second win is something to aim for."

Kevin raised an eyebrow. "You believe that it's impossible to break your limitations mid-race and reach a speed you've never reached before then?"

Willow shook her head. "No. I don't believe in limitations, but at the same time pushing yourself too hard is dangerous. The way I see it, you break your limitations gradually through the work you put in training, acquiring a new level from consistent reps against your current barrier. Forcing it in a race is just asking to be injured."

Kevin's face darkened, memories of his past injuries bubbling to the surface. He gulped, forcing them back down with the bile in his throat and once again throwing away the key.

"Did you learn that from a coach?" He asked.

"Nope. Personal experience. The best knowledge is acquired that way."

Kevin smirked. "You know, I think that you and my muscleheaded best friend would hit it off better than you think."

Willow frowned. "I very much doubt that."

Kevin went back to his warmups, leaving Willow to her own devices. Michael returned soon after, Willow and him exchanging glares before he settled down next to Kevin and offered him his requested water.

The next thirty minutes were spent with Michael talking about the numerous women he encountered on his trip as Kevin warmed up.

Finally, the attendant did his rounds, instructing Kevin the time was soon upon him for the 100 meters.

Michael gave him a pat on the back. "Remember, young paladin, become one with the wind and you shall win. Don't worry about that Maddison guy, your good luck charm wasn't here the first time."

Willow snorted from her perch against the wall beside them. 

Michael narrowed his eyes. "You got something to say, mistress?"

"If you represent a good luck charm then Kevin is better off forfeiting the race." 

"Why you-"

"Willow," Kevin started, interrupting the start of their bickering. Willow turned a questioning gaze onto him. "I'm going to try to find that balance in this race."

Willow nodded. "It's not as easy as it sounds though."

"It never is."

The attendant came back to direct the runners to the field. 

As they waited to get the instruction to walk onto the track, a boy walked up to Kevin, a sly smile accessorized.

"Good job in that 200 meters," Robert Maddison said.

His tone caused Kevin to simply nod in response, well aware of the insincerity in the compliment.

"I thought about participating in it but I had to let you taste victory at least once today. That way, the bitterness of defeat will sting twice as hard."

Kevin wondered why he always seemed to attract these types of people.

Realizing he would get no response from Kevin, Maddison turned away re-busying himself with warming up. Kevin had to grudgingly admit that the guy was built like a unit, with calves that bodybuilders spent at least a year working for. It was no surprise that he had one of the strongest starts Kevin had ever faced at this level, his explosive power was evident.

A few minutes later, Kevin found himself once again in front of the starter's blocks. After the introductions finished, he focused on achieving the same feeling he did in training, experiencing every minute detail with a willing mind.

"On your mark!"

As he shifted into the stance, he focused on experiencing the same feeling he did in training. He opened up his senses, enamoring himself in the feeling of the strong headwind blowing steadily into his face. The silence echoed with anticipation as the spectators' eyes spoke volumes of their unspoken excitement.

"Get set!"

He rubbed his knee against the rough polyurethane track, appreciating the reliability of its even, undisturbed surface. The faint smell of food from vendors wafted through the air, but it was the perspiration of the athletes and the dewy scent of grass that dominated the breeze. 

Kevin felt at ease in the familiar conditions, slowing down his breathing as his body coiled up in preparation for the gun.

"Bang."

Once again, the gun initiated the athlete's launch. To the surprise of the crowd, all eight athletes reacted seamlessly, breaking out of the blocks at practically the same time to the human eye.

However, within three strides it was clear who the leader of the pack was.

Robert Maddison.

Gifted with a physical physique that rivaled Michael's, it was clear he was a gym rat and those calves were not just for show. His legs propelled him into a narrow first place as the trailing pack started to take shape.

Kevin focused on his stride, inviting the warm feeling of the wind whipping against his body in appreciation of his speed. He didn't tune out the crowd this time, very much aware of their roar as he attempted to hunt down the speeding Maddison.

He felt the presence of somebody else glued to his side as they reached the fifty-meter mark with Maddison maintaining his narrow lead.

At the sixty-meter mark, the person on Kevin's side started to pull ahead and that's when Kevin snapped.

The image of Maddison's cocky face before the race flashed across his vision, coupled with the prospect of not only losing to him but someone else and suddenly, the roar of the crowd dulled to a nonexistent volume. 

Win.

He started to force his legs to go faster, barely managing to not overstride as he pushed himself forward.

The person who passed him soon was in his rearview mirror and at the eighty-meter mark he was just a few strides away from passing Maddison.

Just a little more.

Just a little more and he would win it all.

He gritted his teeth as the finishing line shot up, dipping his head to its full length in an attempt to edge out Maddison at the line.

His legs gave out as he passed the line. He managed to prop up his knees and rest his head on them as he struggled to catch his breath. 

His legs felt like a surgeon had cut them off and placed them back in the wrong way, the immense pain causing him to stretch them out with a whimper.

Eventually, the pain dulled to a more tolerable rate and Kevin was able to finally look up and take in the scene unfolding in front of him.

Maddison was cheering, embraced in a hug with an older man wearing attire that matched Madison's track clothes.

Kevin took in the information with somber eyes, his whole body going numb at the realization.

Maddison had won the race again.

Kevin...had lost.