Chapter 1: The Spark No One Saw


The audience screamed joyfully, and I could feel them roaring from the old and dusty television. That noise made the faintly lit living room feel like an arena or some type of a stadium. On the screen, a lone figure stood at the edge of the track with her eyes locked straight ahead working on her stance. The audience was silent at the moment. Then, there was a gunshot. Suddenly, the athlete was out of sight. The runner had moved so quickly that it seemed as though the very force of gravity was taking a break.

Emery held her breath.

It wasn’t just running. It was something far greater; she was soaring. The sky seemed to vanish as she passed the finishing line victoriously first. The scoreboard transformed into a masterpiece, and the entire crowd went mad. Cheers mixed with people crying out, This is a record! This is a reality!

Now, it is no longer a dream, but a reality, and I couldn’t believe it.

The couch was old and so was the fabric; however, the moment was so magical that none of that came to my mind. My fingers were holding onto the torn fabric and simply watching. It was so captivating, and I knew I wanted that. I wanted to feel like I could go through boundaries and limits, and show society how strikingly ignorant naivety is when attached to a word ‘not yet.’

But, reality glared right back at me in the form of an older brother's voice.

“Wow. Really?” Damon scoffed, making a show of crumpling his chip bag and tossing it to the floor. “You’re actually watching this? What, do you think you’re going to be the next Olympic track star?”

Seated at the small kitchen table was Emery’s mother who scoffed out loud at Damon’s sarcasm. "Let her live her dreams, Damon. It does not hurt anyone.”

This was bad. Damon’s “mock”

Chapter 2: Falling, but Not Broken


Emery woke up feeling the ache in muscles she didn’t even know existed. Her legs felt heavy, and as she swung them off the bed, a sharp pain shot from her calves to her thighs.

She winced. Guess I’m in worse shape than I realized.

But the soreness only fueled her determination. Last night had been a turning point—she had taken the first step.

Damon was still asleep, giving her a brief moment of peace before the teasing would begin. Emery quickly laced up her sneakers and slipped out the door.

The early morning air was crisp, and the world was still. She began a slow jog down the street, searching for a rhythm. Her body protested, still recovering from the previous night, but she gritted her teeth and pressed on.

Her form was all off. Her strides were uneven, and her arms felt stiff. She could hear her own breathing—too rapid, too shallow. Everything about her screamed novice.

Then, just ten minutes in, her foot caught on a crack in the pavement.

She hit the ground hard, skin scraping against the concrete. Pain shot through her palms and knees.

For a moment, she lay there, breathless.

Then came the voice she dreaded.

"Wow. That was impressive."

Emery turned her head and groaned.

Standing a few feet away, arms crossed, was Nadia Lane.

Nadia had been a track star at their school since freshman year. Tall, lean, and seemingly effortless in everything she did, she already had college offers lined up before even graduating.

And she was smirking down at Emery like she was some lost kid who had wandered onto the field.

"You do know that running involves staying on your feet, right?"

Emery pushed herself up, ignoring the sting in her knees. "I know how to run."

Nadia raised an eyebrow. "Really? Because that looked more like a… dramatic fall."

Emery clenched her fists. She wasn’t going to let Nadia get to her. Not today.

"I'm training," she said, standing a little taller. "I want to run track."

Nadia didn’t laugh, but the amusement in her eyes didn’t disappear. "You? Run."

Chapter 3: Running Toward the Impossible


The world was still asleep when Emery arrived at the empty street corner at 4:57 a.m.

Her breath came out in small puffs, the early morning air crisp against her skin. The sky was still a deep shade of blue, just hinting at sunrise. She shifted on her feet, shaking off the stiffness in her legs. She hadn't been able to sleep much, anticipation buzzing under her skin.

At exactly 5:00 a.m., Nadia appeared, dressed in sleek athletic gear, a water bottle in one hand and her ever-present stopwatch in the other.

She looked Emery up and down. “You actually showed up.”

Emery straightened. “Told you I would.”

Nadia didn’t respond. Instead, she dropped her water bottle to the ground, took a step back, and crossed her arms. “Good. Because I wasn’t kidding about the suffering.”

The Brutal Reality
The first fifteen minutes were just warm-ups, but Emery was already struggling.

Nadia had her doing high knees, lunges, and dynamic stretches—things Emery had never done before. She tried to copy Nadia’s movements, but her form was sloppy, her balance off.

Then came the real workout.

"Ten sprints," Nadia announced, pointing to a lamppost about 40 meters away. "All-out effort. No stopping in between."

Emery’s stomach clenched.

But she set her feet, inhaled deeply, and took off.

By the third sprint, her legs felt like they were filled with lead.

By the seventh, her lungs burned so badly she thought she might pass out.

By the ninth, she could barely stay upright.

“Last one,” Nadia called. “Give me everything.”

Emery didn’t know if she had anything left. But she clenched her fists, focused on the lamppost, and ran.

She stumbled across the imaginary finish line, collapsing onto her hands and knees. Her heart was trying to beat its way out of her chest.

She expected Nadia to tell her she had done well. Maybe even that she wasn’t completely hopeless.

Instead, Nadia just tapped her watch and said, “Slow. Again tomorrow.”

Emery groaned. “I think my legs are actually dying.”

“Good,” Nadia said. “Means you’re working.”

The First Real Challenge
The next few weeks were a blur of exhaustion and pain. Every morning at 5 a.m., Emery showed up.

Her body protested. Her mind screamed at her to quit. She fell—a lot. She had bruises on her knees, scrapes on her palms, and aches in places she never knew existed.

She trained before school. She trained after school. She trained until she could barely climb the stairs to her bedroom.

And yet, every time she felt like giving up, she remembered the woman on the screen. She remembered how it felt to run, even if she wasn’t good at it yet.

Then came the day Nadia changed the game.

“We’re entering you into a meet,” she said, tossing Emery a sign-up sheet.

Emery blinked. “What?”

“You need real competition,” Nadia said. “And you need to see where you stand against actual runners.”

Emery scanned the paper. It was an open meet—anyone could enter. But the list of competitors included high school track stars from all over the county.

Her stomach twisted.

“I’m not ready,” she said quietly.

Nadia shrugged. “Maybe not. But you’ll never be ready if you don’t start.”

Emery stared at the form.

Damon’s voice echoed in her head. You don’t even run, Emery.

Her mom’s words followed. You have to know what’s possible.

And then, beneath it all, her own voice whispered: What if you can?

Emery grabbed a pen and signed her name.

She was done waiting.

The Race
The stadium was packed.

Emery stood on the starting line, heart hammering.

The other runners around her were taller, stronger, leaner. Some stretched effortlessly, their muscles rippling with years of training. Others cracked jokes like this was just another day for them.

For Emery, this wasn’t just a race. This was the test.

She closed her eyes and inhaled.

This is it. You’ve trained. You belong here.

"Runners, take your mark!"

She set her feet, fingers brushing against the rough track.

"Set!"

A breath.

Then—

Bang!

The gunshot split the air, and Emery exploded forward.

A Harsh Reality
For the first few seconds, it felt like flying.

The rush of adrenaline, the sound of pounding feet—it was intoxicating. She pushed forward, trying to keep pace with the others.

But then—reality hit.

The runners beside her weren’t just fast. They were light-years ahead.

Within seconds, she was falling behind.

No matter how hard she pumped her arms, how much she willed her legs to move faster, they were pulling away. The distance between her and the frontrunners stretched wider and wider.

By the time she crossed the finish line, the race was already over.

She had come in dead last.

Her chest heaved. Her legs felt like jelly. The roar of the crowd barely registered.

She had lost.

She had lost badly.

Emery stumbled off the track, trying to swallow the lump in her throat.

Damon’s voice came back, sharper than ever. You don’t even run, Emery.

Her mother’s voice. You have to know what’s possible.

Nadia approached, hands in her pockets. She didn’t look disappointed. She didn’t look surprised.

She just said, “How do you feel?”

Emery clenched her fists. “Like I don’t belong here.”

Nadia tilted her head. “So? What now?”

Emery stared down at her worn-out sneakers.

She could walk away. Accept that she was never meant to be a runner. That everyone had been right.

Or—

She could keep running.

Slowly, Emery lifted her head.

“I want to train,” she said. Her voice didn’t shake. “Harder. Smarter. For real this time.”

Nadia’s smirk returned. “Good.”

She pulled out her stopwatch and tossed it to Emery.

"Then stop thinking like someone who lost—and start training like someone who's not finished yet."

Emery looked at the stopwatch in her hands.

The race was over.

But her journey was just beginning.