Running a race

In high school, they said they needed a fifth runner. All i needed to do was to keep going-- run, walk, limp--just cross that line. Not every runner who began a race crossed the finish, but i want to be one who placed instead of the last to cross, the one who set a real record instead of shaving scant seconds off my time.

Fifteen years later, i still want to be the one who crosses victorious with arms raised high instead of who i am: shin-splinted, barely into the first mile and already lagging far behind bronze.

The pack and the stands say: keep moving ahead. You can do it! Keep going! Run! Drop everything that hinders! If you can't run, walk. Or crawl. Or at the least fall forward.

I know i can cross the finish, but i don't want to run merely to limp across the line.
Instead of the one kindly cheered for, i want to be the one to cheer the others in.