Short but to the point.
Time to run.
I am in a race. I'm at the starting line, all ready and in position to start the second they yell go. The sun is beating down on my back as my muscles tense in preparation of movement.
And then BANG, the starting gun goes off and my feet are already moving, the wind in my face, my feet slapping against the hot asphalt as my lungs beg for the fresh air. I am on fire.
After running, and running, and running, passing every competitor I see, leaving them to eat my dust, I see the finish line. Like a pot of gold at the end of the rainbow, I never thought I would see it. I am a mere few feet away. I propel my feet forwards, a new spring in my step, I am a few steps away from achieving one of my biggest goals of running a marathon. I am just thinking of how I will bask in my glory when I realize I'm not moving.
I stare aghast at my feet, who seem to refuse to move another centimeter. I scream as I try to move my legs, grabbing and pulling with my sweat covered arms as I see other runners approaching, ready to steal my thunder. One, then two, then six, then I watched as all thirty six runners ran to steal my pot of gold at the end of the rainbow.And then..
I woke up.
Time to run.