It is a race. One where legs pump hard to keep the speed. Faster, faster... she would like to hear the wind flying pass her ears, feel the coolness of the earth's breath on her face and that burn she feel in her legs as she continues to push. 
Then, there is the trip. The one where her feet suddenly could not coordinate and let her shoe hit a part of the ground. With the momentum, it sends her flying forward, feet at an angle away from the ground and hands outstretched to break the fall. Break they did as the skin of her palms scrape against the coarse ground and sand manages to hurt her tender flesh. Soon, her knees followed with impact to the ground and her body rolled twice before it came to a full stop. 
As thick, red blood trickled down her arms and legs, she tried to calm her beating heart that was working overtime both from the run and the fall. She was sitting in an upright position, waiting for the medics to arrive. They took only about a minute, but it was a full minute. 
A minute where she would contemplate if she should have ran as fast as she did and what made her trip. Her own carelessness, or was it a slight obstacle she was unaware of? She looked at her wounds. Damn. It was sure to leave some scars. Her hands were shaking, her breathing rugged. Would she have the courage to get up and run again, or surrender to the care of the medics?
Get up.
A small voice in her head, but it was firm and determined. 
No...
Another, more emotional voice. The two battled for a few seconds. 
And then she was in the air. The wind curled through her hair, whistled at her ears and gently tugged her backwards. She was too fast, too determined to notice. Her legs pumped and her pain forgotten. When she slowed down, she was sure to feel it again, but at that moment, she could not care less. Down the track she goes. It does not matter if she wins, but it matters if she kept going.
That's what she does. She kept going.
~Joanna