He entered the race with confidence. No one can stop him. He stretches his legs, hamstrings and back with lunges, touching his toes and bending backwards before twisting and lines up at the starting line, surrounded by women, and he shakes his jitters away, making sure not to look first place in the eyes.  Thoughts populate his brain as he's handed a number indicating his place.  95 is such a large number. He's disgusted.   Who wants to come in 95th place? Five behind, 94 in front. But he can feel the pangs in his brain as he feels it shrink,  Dehydration even though he guzzled so much water... Too much water, because the race has already started and he can feel himself getting slower "Am I in 96th place now? Or Last place." He feels the water coming up from nerves and he steps off the track before letting a liquid vomit escape his digestive system. And he's relieved, and now he's passed 93.

Closing in on 78.

And he's begging so much to pass 1st place. It's all he's trained for. Because he learned to ignore the pangs in his stomach and the screaming from his legs as much as he learned to ignore the pangs from behind as they throw "concerned"or as he likes to call them jealous  looks towards him, because he sees that they wouldn't dare to enter his field of expertise as they have no self control and wouldn't dare touch the race he knew all too well.

65th.

And he hears whispering on how much he's trained and how he wants to earn the title of best and he doesn't know why they aren't happy for him.

60th.

He's so close he can taste the golden trophy and ceremony they'll give him when he wins.

And then he hits 49th.

And he doesn't know that the collapse has overcome him. And he doesn't know that his family has come to watch him lose as the paramedics drag him away on a stretcher