Taylor Edwards

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The pistol blast filled the air with a lurid, startling noise. Tim's muscles contracted and pushed, feeling at once strange and exhilarating. His legs heaved, to and fro, up and down like a marching band. He felt his lungs gasping, the oxygen pouring through his mouth and diffusing across his membranes. The oxygenated blood pumped through his rigorous, corded muscles and he found himself propelling down the lane of the McMahon Stadium track. He couldn't tell where his competitors were, everything else was a blur, feeling at once inconsequential. He continued to run, pushing with everything he could.