Gemotions

The track coach clapped him on the back. "We're going to try you out in the hurdles, Michael. Your stride length is perfect." Michael's face remained impassive, as it always did. The smell of the track, the stale smell of the indoors, was the same it always was.

He knew he could probably do it. He’d always been a fast runner. He’d won a few races, but it had never really meant anything. He didn't have to put in much effort.

He watched the other runners practice the hurdles, the precise movements, the controlled power. He did not feel any connection. When his turn came, he ran, he jumped, and finished the course. He barely registered the results.