Gemotions

He sat on the bench, methodically tightening the laces of his cleats, each loop and knot a deliberate act. The air at the track meet was thick with the scent of sweat and anticipation, but Marcus felt a certain detachment, the calm before the storm. He was a sprinter, known for his speed.

His coach waved him over. "Marcus, can you come here?"

He rose, his muscles loose and responsive.

“We're short a relay runner. I need you to run the third leg."

The relay. He preferred individual races. He thought of the other runners, the need for perfect timing. He weighed the decision, the quick bursts of power required, the shared goal. "I'm in," he said, a quiet certainty in his tone.