The Marathoner's Last Breath

Lina stood at the starting line, her heart pounding in her chest. The air was thick with heat, the kind that clung to your skin and pressed down on you with every breath. Around her, the other runners stretched and focused, their faces drawn tight with concentration. But Lina wasn’t thinking about the other runners. She wasn’t even thinking about the race ahead. Instead, her mind was thousands of miles away, back home in the small, dusty village where her family was crowded around an old, crackling television set, waiting for her to make them proud.

She wiped the sweat from her forehead and adjusted the tattered armband she wore—a small piece of fabric, frayed at the edges, that her mother had given her the night before she left. “For luck,” her mother had whispered, pressing it into her hand. Lina had smiled, but she knew it wasn’t luck she needed. She needed strength. She needed endurance. And most of all, she needed to believe in herself, something that felt harder and harder the closer she got to the starting line.

When the gun went off, the crowd roared, and Lina surged forward with the others. Her feet hit the pavement in quick, steady strides, her body moving on muscle memory alone. The first few miles passed in a blur, the rhythm of her breathing in time with her steps. She had trained for this, she reminded herself. She had run through fields, over rocky paths, and along the cracked roads of her village, her lungs burning, her legs aching, but never stopping. She had pushed through exhaustion, through hunger, through pain that made her feel like her body was coming apart at the seams. But this was different. This was the biggest stage she’d ever set foot on.

The heat intensified as the race wore on, the sun beating down mercilessly on the runners. Sweat soaked through Lina’s clothes, her mouth dry despite the sips of water she’d taken at every station. Her legs were still moving, but they felt heavier with each step, as if the weight of the world were pressing down on her shoulders.

At the halfway mark, Lina felt a cramp tighten in her side, sharp and sudden. She gasped and slowed her pace, but she didn’t stop. Stopping wasn’t an option. She thought of her family again—her father, who had spent long hours in the fields so she could chase this dream, her siblings who had gone without so she could travel to this race, and her mother, whose proud, weathered face she saw every time she closed her eyes.

“You can do this,” she whispered to herself, the words almost lost in the roar of the crowd. But doubt was creeping in. She could feel it, cold and insidious, wrapping itself around her heart. The other runners were pulling ahead, their strides long and confident, while her body felt like it was betraying her.

By the 18th mile, her legs were screaming. Every step was agony, her muscles cramping and tightening, her feet heavy as if they were made of lead. She felt her pace slow even further, but she didn’t care. She just needed to keep going. One foot in front of the other. That was all she had to do.

But then, at mile 20, it happened. The moment she had feared, the one that had haunted her every night leading up to the race. Her vision blurred, and her legs gave out from under her. She stumbled, barely catching herself before she hit the ground. The crowd gasped, and for a brief moment, the world seemed to stop. Lina could hear her heart pounding in her ears, her breath ragged and shallow.

She wanted to stop. God, she wanted to stop more than anything. Her body was begging her to give up, to let the pain take over and pull her down. But she couldn’t. She wouldn’t.

Lina pushed herself up, her legs shaking beneath her. She could barely see straight, the world spinning around her in dizzying circles. But she started to move again, her steps slow and uneven. She could hear the other runners passing her, their footsteps echoing in her ears. It didn’t matter. None of that mattered now.

The finish line was still miles away, but in her heart, it was already within reach. She just had to make it. She had to finish. Not for herself, but for the people who had believed in her, who had sacrificed for her. For the little girl who had run barefoot through the village streets, dreaming of this moment.

The pain was unbearable now, a constant, searing ache in her legs, her chest, her head. Her body felt like it was on fire, every breath a struggle, every step a battle. But she kept going. She had to.

The last mile felt like an eternity. Lina’s vision was narrowing, her surroundings fading into a blur of noise and color. She couldn’t hear the crowd anymore, couldn’t feel the heat of the sun. All she could feel was the pounding of her heart and the burning in her lungs.

When she finally saw the finish line, it was like a mirage, shimmering in the distance. Her legs felt like they would give out any second, but she pushed forward, one agonizing step at a time. The finish line grew closer and closer, until it was right there, just a few feet in front of her.

And then, with one final burst of strength, Lina crossed the line.

She collapsed to the ground, her body shaking, her vision darkening. The noise of the crowd swelled around her, but she couldn’t hear it. All she could feel was the cool pavement beneath her cheek, the pain in her body finally ebbing away. She had finished. She had done it.

As the world went dark around her, Lina smiled. She hadn’t won the race. She hadn’t even come close. But she had finished. And in that moment, that was all that mattered