When you rewatch it, it always begins with hope.

You're at the line again. Bent over, waiting. The heart races at no good purpose, since nothing even has yet occurred. You recall the certainty you had just before the gun in that silent second. How you wished it had turned out. You really believed it would.

Then you see the section you are trying not to think about.

The start isn't clean. You're a little late. One-half of a second to lose the balance. People pull ahead. You can tell the hesitation cross your face now as you watch it. That is when you are thinking whether it is already finished. But you keep running anyway. Not because you know it because it would be worse to stop.

there is a passage that you scarcely paid attention to.

It becomes habitual to your body. The breath becomes regular. You quit thinking and take action. It is not very long, but it still exists. When you watch it again you find that that is what you were running after the whole time. Why you should be there at all.

Then it gets hard.

Your legs start burning. Every step is heavier and heavier. You can nearly hear the questions begin to mount Why am I doing this? Is this actually worth it? Eventually, you slow down. Then you stop. You are sitting by the track, attempting to get your breath, and looking at nothing in particular. You give yourself a minute. Maybe more.

The next part is the one that amazes you.

It is not completion that brings satisfaction. It is when you stand back on your heels. Even when you get going once more, though slower. When your breath becomes regular and all is calmer. You did not attempt to win any longer. You were just moving forward. And somehow, that felt enough.

Naturally, there is also frustration, as well.

You replay the start. The little mistakes. The seconds you can't get back. You promise yourself that you will correct it the next time although you have said that.

And then there's the ending.

Not a victory. Not a loss. It is just the fact that you finished. You tried. You stayed in it. Now that you watch it, you find that that was more than you thought then.

When you look back upon life, it seems to be a lot of that.

It moves fast. Things go wrong early. You have ups and downs, when you feel good, moments when you come to a dead. Nobody does not like thinking that he or she is the one who is stronger, better prepared, somehow different and no one. Everyone stumbles. Nobody stretches what they are not anticipated to. All people are forced to sit somewhere.

Between, there are minor victories you are almost missing. Irritating irritations that won't leave you alone when they are not supposed to. And every so now a hushpuppy feeling that you did all right.

At times your lane is indeed tougher.

The ground feels rough. The pressure doesn't let up. Each of the steps reminds about something you lost on the way. Injuries that are not recognizable on the surface are bestowed by life. But you don't avoid them. You move through them. Slowly, if you have to

It is obvious because, upon rewatching it, one thing stands out to you:

You did not continue on because you were the fastest.
You never gave up as you did not want to give up.

That is all there is to it some days.