SIKULY'UVASAKA Rachel

🇬🇧 English Version

The Last Kilometer

The rain was relentless, heavy, and cold, turning the trail into a thick river of mud. Thomas stopped, his knees shaking uncontrollably. His lungs felt like they were on fire, and every muscle in his legs screamed at him to stop, to sit down, to give up. He had been running for over six hours, tackling the hardest ultramarathon of his life.

With only three kilometers left to reach the finish line, his legs felt like lead blocks. He sank to his knees in the mud, staring at his trembling hands. I can’t do this, he thought. My body has hit the wall. It’s impossible.

Then, he remembered the words his former coach used to whisper whenever the training became unbearable:

"Your body can stand almost anything; it’s your mind that you have to convince."

Thomas took a long, deep breath and closed his eyes, tuning out the sound of the rain and the ache in his muscles. He realized his legs weren't broken; they were just tired. It wasn't his body giving up—it was his fear taking over.

He visualised the finish line, the crowd, and the feeling of accomplishment. He made a quiet promise to himself: Just one more step.

Slowly, he stood up. He forced one foot in front of the other. The pain was still there, but it no longer controlled him. Step by step, stride by stride, he pushed through the darkness. Twenty minutes later, he crossed the finish line, tears mixing with the rain on his face. He had defeated the trail, but more importantly, he had won the battle in his head.

🇫🇷 Version Française

Le Dernier Kilomètre

La pluie était implacable, lourde et froide, transformant le sentier en une épaisse rivière de boue. Thomas s'arrêta, les genoux tremblant de manière incontrôlable. Ses poumons le brûlaient, et chaque muscle de ses jambes lui hurlait de s'arrêter, de s'asseoir, d'abandonner. Il courait depuis plus de six heures, affrontant l'ultramarathon le plus difficile de sa vie.

À seulement trois kilomètres de la ligne d'arrivée, ses jambes lui semblaient être des blocs de plomb. Il s'effondra sur les genoux dans la boue, fixant ses mains tremblantes. Je n'y arriverai pas, pensa-t-il. Mon corps a atteint ses limites. C'est impossible.

C'est alors qu'il se souvint des paroles que son ancien entraîneur lui murmurait toujours lorsque l'entraînement devenait insupportable :

"Ton corps peut presque tout supporter ; c'est ton esprit qu'il faut convaincre."

Thomas inspira profondément et ferma les yeux, faisant abstraction du bruit de la pluie et de la douleur dans ses muscles. Il réalisa que ses jambes n'étaient pas brisées ; elles étaient simplement fatiguées. Ce n'était pas son corps qui abandonnait, c'était sa peur qui prenait le dessus.

Il visualisa la ligne d'arrivée, la foule et le sentiment d'accomplissement. Il se fit une promesse silencieuse : Juste un pas de plus.

Lentement, il se releva. Il força un pied devant l'autre. La douleur était toujours là, mais elle ne le contrôlait plus. Pas à pas, foulée après foulée, il traversa l'obscurité. Vingt minutes plus tard, il franchissait la ligne d'arrivée, les larmes se mêlant à la pluie sur son visage. Il avait vaincu le sentier, mais surtout, il avait gagné la bataille dans sa tête.