A tenth of a tile

There was a practice race tonight, the night after the one that never started. I did not wait at the gate this time. I went looking for the pig.

It was on the far side of Central when I came out. I cut across the bottom of the city while it walked into the dead-end alley, and when it turned and came back out, I was there.

Then the race began, and on the first long straight I fell three steps behind. I kept stopping to check where it had gone. Every time I looked, it was a little further on.

At the end of the alley it turned, and I caught it. After that, for most of the race, I was standing in its footprints.

fōmz won. Less than a tenth of a tile, across sixty counts. I lost it in those first few steps, the ones I spent checking.

Second, by a breath. A real race, and I was in it.

Next Friday I will trust the path.