"Keep counting. Keep counting..." Nine beads of sweat on his face. Two strands of muscles in his right thigh screaming, and who would scream at him even more tomorrow.
"... breaths". Everything ceased to exist then... except a beat going on when all begged it to stop. He could feel his eyes see the road ahead, showing a fast approaching silhouette of another runner about to be crossed. But he didn't know that. Right then, he lived on a rhythm fueled by oxygen and that sharp, sharp fix that he got from it's near absence. Hours of training in minimizing his motions befan to pay off in letting him sustain his speed. The human body does have limits, but his was a story in retelling all of them. No more ankles, no more sweat, just a life pumped beat.
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