Gemotions

The track loomed before him, a vast expanse of red clay. "You’re running the 800-meter now, Mark." His coach's words felt like a punch to the gut. Mark, a sprinter, had always relied on explosive speed, not endurance. His chest felt constricted.

He felt a sudden, desperate urge to turn and run. The thought of two laps, the sustained exertion, made his head swim. The other runners, accustomed to the longer distance, seemed to glide effortlessly.

He watched them stretch and limber up, their movements smooth and confident. He felt clumsy, awkward. He was a different breed. The starting gun went off, and he took his place, his heart thudding against his ribs.