Spring in your steps
Its cold on the frosty pitch. You take up your position beside the other boys, the bigger boys. The colder boys. They don't like to look at you, standing in your red jersey while they wear green.
BANG
and the race is on. Blood and sweat and tears. Someone goes down just in front of you, slipping on the icy, slushy ground. But you forge on.
Another day, another time. The bigger boys are not so big any more. You are among them, still dressed in a jersey - the team jersey for your county. But somehow even in white vests, the glow of red and green still shines on through.
The greens stand apart from you, holding their heads high. And BANG
off goes the race again. This time its bigger. This time its colder, and more slippery with more ice than ever before. The battle is on. Bodies fly up and down hills, feet pumping, arms pumping. You have never run so fast in your life.
Someone goes down just in front of you. It's a green, dressed in mud-splattered white. You hold out a hand, and
stop. "Are you alright? Come on Merseyside!"
He grabs your outstretched arm and leaps back to his feet. He stares you in the eye. Not a word is said, but you feel the ice wall between you crack and fracture. As you run on, side by side, not leaving him behind, the day doesn't seem so cold anymore.
Winter always leads to springs in your steps eventually.