This is in continuation from my last post on revision, Revision Is This. You didn't think I'd leave you dying on the path, did you?
My legs ache from the steep incline and I can barely put one foot in front of the other. I stagger to the top of the peak and let the wind brush a cool breeze against my cheeks. The air smells sweet like honeysuckle. A valley spreads below me in a patchwork quilt, and I realize it’s filled with tulips, daisies and tiny white flowers.
And there, just in the distance, stands the finish line, its crimson flags whipping against an icy blue sky.
Energy bursts through me and I take off in a sprint down the hill. The wind pushes against me now, tearing at my clothes, but I’m so caught up in my downward momentum that I don’t care. I’m practically flying.
I hit level ground. It’s rocky and weeds twist their way over the path, but my eyes focus on the finish line. Fire burns my lungs, a searing pain. It spreads through my whole body and yet I’ve never felt more alive than I do right now.
And then I cross the finish line. I lift my arms in victory, and I scream and shout. Someone presses a thin, cold disc into my sweaty hand.
The blisters are forgotten, the cuts and bruises have vanished, and the doubts have been left in the dust because I’ve finished the race.
And nothing can take that victory from me.I’ve nearly made it. I’m almost there!