As the five approached the start line, they adjusted their positions. Monica flexed and seemed to settle down. As the last cart moved into position a tape was raised and the competitors were urged to approach it. The tape was suspended between two poles on either side of the track, they swung up to stop at about chest height. ‘They’re approaching the gate.’ The announcer said. The Judges walked the line once and held up a green flag. Two seconds later there was a loud bell and the tape dropped quickly driven down by spring force. The Racers strained forward pulling hard against the carts, and started running in a couple steps. Monica and the girl on the outside moved to a quick lead, the girl on the outside was about even with Monica going into the first turn. Monica didn’t pay attention to that, she focused on running fast and picking her feet up quickly. She felt the familiar burning in her legs and lungs as she strained to breath around the bit. Drool ran down her chin and she. As soon as the wheels touched down on the runway, the reverb sent tingles between my legs. I’m here. Although I was solo on my flight and did not know a soul in this country so foreign to me, I know he’s waiting for me at the arrivals gate. I claim my bag and scurry in the same direction that the throngs of people are heading in. Each step taking me closer to him, seizing the space between us. Before anxiety can settle in about meeting him, a more pressing thought intrudes and I wince at my appearance. I had experienced a full day of classes and errands before I departed for this six hour flight. Surely, it’s taken a toll on me, and both my physical and intimate appearance are under duress. I contemplate going into the bathroom to freshen up, but the lines at immigration are already threatening and lengthy, and I don’t want him to wait longer than he already has. After clearing immigration, I take the last turn to the arrivals gate. Nerves and excitement claim me as I will soon be.
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