I remember running.

      Running and running and running.

      I remember my arms flailing wildly and the sweat dripping more freely from my forehead along the infantile edge of my nose and down my chubby cheeks.

      The pain sprouted slowly along the length of my ankle. I remember wincing slightly, my teeth clenched as I struggled not to let the pain get in the way of what I wanted. What I was running for.

      I remember turning my head from left to right, and taking it all in, or rather, what I could take in. The crowd seemed to be increasing with every step I took forward.

      I remember not minding.

      Just like the pain, the crowd was secondary. It was all very optional.

      I remember my mind being set on that one single task. I remember it being etched in my mind like my life depended on it. I was running for that task, that goal.

      I was just a few minutes away from achieving it. Just a few more bursts of energy, a few more grunts and some more pain, and I would have done it. I would have reached it.

      I remember my ears suddenly echoing. With a loud, unnerving sound.

     And then, I remember, I went backwards. I took a step back, and turned my head back in the direction that I was running away from.

      I remember panic everywhere. And I remember people running. Even the ones who were not there to run. Even the ones who just wanted to enjoy a tub of popcorn and cheer on.

     And as my eyes widened, and my mouth opened, I remember the pain vanishing.

     And I remember me. Failing.