No Looking Back
The world falls away behind him—blurred, distant, irrelevant. All that matters is the run, the rhythm of his breath, the pulse in his legs, the weight of the moment. He charges forward, not for glory, but for the thrill of chasing it. Mud clings to him like battle scars, light cuts across his path like fate itself, and time seems to hold its breath. This is the heartbeat of youth. The spirit of sport. This is a story caught in motion.
No Looking Back
The world falls away behind him—blurred, distant, irrelevant. All that matters is the run, the rhythm of his breath, the pulse in his legs, the weight of the moment. He charges forward, not for glory, but for the thrill of chasing it. Mud clings to him like battle scars, light cuts across his path like fate itself, and time seems to hold its breath. This is the heartbeat of youth. The spirit of sport. This is a story caught in motion.