Run or Die Read Online Free PDF Page A

stones . …
    I get out of bed covered in sweat. The room is in darkness, and my friend is sleeping peacefully. All is quiet. However, this silence is warm, alive, and comforting and makes me feel secure. I look at the clock. It is midnight; we have been asleep for less than two hours. I try to breathe less frantically and to think of other things as sleep takes over again and brings no dreams.
    I get out of bed six hours later, this time roused by the dull soundof the alarm. Gradually, we get up and switch on the light. Sleep flees the moment our brains register that the alarm signals three hours until the start of the race. There is no time to linger between the sheets. I quickly go downstairs and eat a slice of energy cake and 10 minutes afterward stretch out in bed once again, eyesshut, breathing regularly, while my heartbeat calms down. For the hundredth time over the last two days, I review the route for the race and my opponents. Everything is now in place; nothing can stop me.
    An hour before the start, I jump out of bed, dress carefully, position the race bib so that it is perfectly straight, put the gels in my pocket, and tie my laces tight around the quick-lace so that my shoes perfectly fit the line of my feet and nothing can undo them. I head outside, and the music starts inside my head. Very loud sounds. Drums, vibrant electric rhythms that rise in volume and beat with each second. As if synchronized, my heartbeats begin to speed up. My brain tells me to jump, shout, and run as fast as I can. I take a couple of deep breaths and connect my iPod. I begin to run at a gentle pace, away from the other runners, in my own world. I am staring into the distance, far in front, visualizing the tape. A couple of sprints to wake my muscles up and get rid of the tension in my head and I am ready to go. I scrutinize the faces of the runners around me. I see serious faces, laughing faces, scared faces, and blank faces. I also see legs: hairless legs, muscular legs, white legs, and brown legs. Scary legs. Which legs will I see in the race? Because, given the effort I’ll be making, I will find it hard to look up at faces, but I will see plenty of legs. I think I could recognize people by their legs rather than their faces after spending so many hours behind some runners. I am in my starting position, in the second row, not next to the fence or in the middle of the pack. The position I prefer. There is the odd laugh and comment, but you could cut the tension with a knife.
    “One minute to go!” bawls the starter. Meanwhile, I start to feel the pressure from the group pushing forward, and the shoves start to come from all sides as people jostle to get in the best position possible. I don’t think it is necessary to push now to gain a fewinches. It’s a long race that will put everyone in his place. Everyone is at the ready, bodies leaning forward, one leg in front, hand on watch, waiting to press the start button the moment the starting gun fires.
    Time goes very slowly, almost stands still. Seconds seem like hours, and I find it harder and harder to follow the countdown because my thoughts can only focus on the actual start.
    “Thirty seconds to go!”
    Time doesn’t race on but seems to stand still. As far as we are concerned, the world has come to a halt. People shout from behind the barriers, but I hear nothing. The silence is absolute, absorbed as I am by the tension of waiting for the starting pistol. My pulse races faster, ever more strongly. I feel every heartbeat in every part of my body, in my head, hands, legs. A countdown starts within me: 20, 19, 18, 17. … I feel my strength going, making me shake. My legs are stiff but wobbly and seem unable to bear my weight. … 10, 9, 8, 7 … I don’t know if time has stopped altogether or if everything is speeding on uncontrollably. My legs are no longer shaking; my whole body now seems heavy and awkward. I’d find it hard to move my lips to shout. If nobody comes to