We begin to run faster, each of us visualizing the race ahead. Race mode is a world of its own. My imagined scene on the track replaces the reality of my vision. I see the starting gun, hear the silent cheers of the crowd as I round each corner. Colors blur and thoughts dissolve until it is only my body, pushing until I can stand it no longer.

"He's got your bike," he yelled, honking and simultaneously cranking the bus door open. I threw my book against the wall, dropped my bag in my seat, and sprinted out the door in a blur of adrenaline. I sprinted across Market Street in the midst of honking horns and throngs of commuters. I must have yelled something, but all I remember was the pound of my boots on the damp sidewalk.