Oh. My. Gods. - Weebly

I wish I could know what Jackie is focusing on. She’s like a
machine. Same rhythm, same pace over every terrain. Every slope.
Every turn.
I’m starting to wonder if I’ll be able to catch her.
One mile from the finish line I hit the wall.
My legs feel like melted Jell-O. Every breath I manage to suck in
sends sharp pain through my lungs and radiating out to the rest of
my body. I can’t feel my feet anymore.
But my eyes are glued to number thirty-seven.
Thir-ty-sev-en.
Jackie is only two paces in front of me now. The other girls from
the lead pack faded half a mile ago, so we are alone in the lead. In
the four miles I have been watching her, Jackie hasn’t shown a single
sign of weakness. No slip or stumble. No surreptitious glance
over her shoulder to see who’s close.
Nothing.
The only sign that she’s actually exerting herself is the sweat
soaking her shorts and tank top. That keeps me going—at least
she’s working hard.
But I can feel myself weakening.
Like I’m using the very last of my energy reserves and am not
going to have anything left for a strong finish. In fact, I might not
have anything left at all.
Suddenly, Jackie moves ahead three paces.
No, she doesn’t move ahead. I drop back.
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