The car crossed the finish line both fast and slow, both in the blink of an eye and yet in slow motion too. Then it parked, engines cooling, tyres embracing the tarmac; its radio still playing my favourite song.
The chequered flag of the finishing line waved as butterfly wings in the hot summer air.
It was the finishing line for me, the starting line for others, that's the way these relay sets work. As I power down, others power up, and together we go the distance, ever ready to run if called upon.
Every time we run, its all out until we cross the finishing line. Then its all stop. We rest. Satisfied knowing we gave it all we could give.
The finishing line is never grand, yet it is a moment much the same as any other. It changes you though, relaxes you, gives you that sense of achievement.
There is something about a finishing line; I could never imagine stopping before it arrived in view, then I could never imagine not stopping once it was passed.
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