Miles jolted awake at 5:47 AM, thirteen minutes before his alarm. The hotel room was still dark, Andre's steady breathing from the other bed the only sound. For a moment, Miles lay perfectly still, taking inventory of his body. No unexpected soreness. No lingering fatigue. Just the familiar low hum of pre-competition energy already building in his chest.
He silenced his alarm before it could sound and slipped out of bed, gathering his gear for the bathroom. No sense waking Andre yet—they'd both need every minute of rest they could get.
Under the shower spray, Miles ran through his race visualizations once more. Sixty meter prelims at 10:15. Three hundred meter prelims at 2:30. Between them, hours of focused preparation, controlled energy management, and the particular mental discipline required to balance rest and readiness.
And somewhere in there, Kayla. Her 300 was right after his—back-to-back heats as they'd realized in their texts. The thought sent a different kind of energy through him, one he carefully set aside for now. Focus first. Everything else second.
When he emerged from the bathroom, Andre was sitting up, scrolling through his phone.
"Morning," Andre nodded, his game face already on. "Sleep okay?"
"Yeah," Miles replied, which wasn't entirely a lie. He'd eventually fallen asleep, even if his mind had raced for longer than ideal.
"Heat sheets posted," Andre said, holding up his phone. "You're in heat one of the sixty, lane four. Thompson from Texas in five, Marshall from California in six."
Miles nodded, taking in the information. Thompson was the top-ranked high school sprinter in the country—a senior with multiple Division I offers already secured. Marshall was less familiar, but California talent was always serious.
"Your three hundred?" Miles asked.
"Heat three, lane five," Andre replied. "Decent draw. You?"
"Haven't checked yet," Miles admitted, reaching for his own phone.
The Velocity System activated as he pulled up the heat assignments:
Competition analysis loading...
60m Prelim - Heat 1, Lane 4
Adjacent competitors: Thompson (SR-TX) - 6.62 season best, Marshall (JR-CA) - 6.66 season best
Your season best: 6.67 Qualification requirement: Top 2 in heat or next 4 fastest times
300m Prelim - Heat 1, Lane 6
Adjacent competitors: Williams (SR-FL) - 33.95 season best, Grayson (SR-PA) - 34.08 season best
Your season best: 33.99 (National Freshman Record)
Qualification requirement: Top 2 in heat or next 2 fastest times
No room for error in either event. Unlike states, where he'd emerged as the clear favorite, here he was simply one of many elite athletes—and a freshman among mostly upperclassmen at that.
"Team breakfast in thirty," Andre reminded him as they finished getting ready. "Coach wants everyone together before we head to the track."
Westridge's small nationals contingent gathered in a private dining area the hotel had arranged for them. Coach Dormer stood at the head of the table, clipboard in hand as always, his expression giving away nothing about the magnitude of the day ahead.
"Final instructions," he said once they'd filled their plates with carefully chosen pre-competition fuel. "Prelims today, finals tomorrow for those who qualify. Race your race, not anyone else's. The competition is elite—that's why we're here. But the track is still two hundred meters around, finish line's still in the same place."
His gaze moved across each athlete, lingering an extra beat on Miles. "Carter, your sixty is first. We'll head to the track as a team at eight. Questions?"
There were none. Everything had been discussed, planned, and visualized already. All that remained was execution.
The New Balance Indoor Track facility looked different in the morning light—more imposing, more official, with USATF banners hanging from the walls and officials in professional attire moving with purpose. Teams from across the country filled the warmup areas, their school colors creating a kaleidoscope of competition.
Miles followed Coach Dormer's precise timeline, beginning his warmup ninety minutes before his race. The routine was comfortingly familiar even in this unfamiliar setting—progressive activation, dynamic stretches, drills, and finally several buildups to prime his nervous system.
As he completed a set of A-skips, he caught a flash of navy and gold across the warmup area. Central's team had arrived, their matching sweatshirts exactly as Kayla had described. He scanned the group automatically, but couldn't spot her among them.
"Focus, Carter," Coach's voice cut through his distraction. "Block setup next. Let's see those Johnson adjustments."
Miles nodded, refocusing on his preparation. This wasn't the time for social awareness, no matter how his eyes wanted to drift toward the Central team area.
First call for the 60m preliminaries came at 9:45. Miles gathered his competition spikes and reported to the clerk's area, where officials checked his lane assignment and directed him to the staging zone. The atmosphere here was different than at any previous meet—athletes with national rankings from different regions, each moving through their own pre-race routines with practiced intensity.
Thompson from Texas stood nearby, his six-foot-two frame impossibly lean, radiating a veteran's confidence. He caught Miles looking and offered a small nod of acknowledgment—not friendly, not hostile, just professional recognition of another competitor.
As they waited, Miles felt a tap on his shoulder. He turned to find Marshall, the California junior, looking at him with curious intensity.
"You the freshman with the three hundred record?" Marshall asked.
Miles nodded, slightly uncomfortable with being recognized.
"Respect," Marshall said simply. "Takes serious wheels to drop those times as a ninth-grader."
Before Miles could respond, the official called for Heat 1 to proceed to the track. As they walked single-file through the tunnel leading to the competition area, Miles felt the full weight of the moment. This was Nationals—the convergence of the country's most elite high school talent on a single stage.
The announcer's voice boomed through the facility as they emerged: "Heat One of the men's sixty meter dash. In lane three, from Wilson High School in Oregon, junior Eric Sandoval. Lane four, from Westridge High School in New York, freshman Miles Carter. Lane five, from Eastside High School in Texas, senior DeShawn Thompson..."
Miles took his place in lane four, focusing on his block setup rather than the crowd or the quality of his competition. The adjustments Johnson had shown him were second nature now—weight distribution, hand placement, drive angle. He moved through his pre-race routine with mechanical precision, shutting out everything beyond his lane.
"Runners to your marks."
Miles settled into his blocks, feeling the familiar connection of spikes to track surface.
"Set."
He raised his hips, weight balanced forward, core engaged. The world narrowed to the strip of track ahead and the sound that would set him in motion.
The gun cracked, and Miles exploded forward. His reaction time felt good, his drive phase powerful as he pushed through the first fifteen meters. But his peripheral vision registered something unfamiliar—Thompson and Marshall matching him stride for stride, neither falling behind as he'd grown accustomed to seeing.
The Velocity System flashed metrics:
Drive phase: 93% efficiency
Position at 30m: 3rd, -0.04s behind leader
Acceleration curve: Optimal
Final phase engaged
Miles pushed harder through the final thirty meters, his form holding together well despite the increased effort. Thompson's superior experience showed in the closing meters, his turnover rate slightly faster, his lean at the line perfectly executed.
Miles crossed the finish third in his heat, immediately checking the scoreboard:
Thompson (TX) - 6.64
Marshall (CA) - 6.66
Carter (NY) - 6.67
The top two qualified automatically. Miles would need to wait for all heats to complete to know if his 6.67 would advance as one of the four next fastest times.
"Good race," Thompson offered as they walked off the track, his Texas drawl pronounced. "You got wheels, freshman."
"Thanks," Miles managed between controlled breaths. "You too."
As they exited the track, Coach Dormer met him at the edge of the competition area. "Clean execution," he observed. "Times look fast across preliminary heats. Six-sixty-seven should qualify, but we'll wait to confirm."
Miles nodded, beginning his recovery protocol. As he jogged a slow lap around the warmup area, he spotted a now-familiar navy and gold sweatshirt near the clerk's check-in. Kayla stood with her Central teammates, already in preparation mode for her own races later. When she looked up, their eyes met across the facility.
She smiled and made a subtle 'fingers crossed' gesture, clearly having seen his preliminary result. Miles returned a small nod, not wanting to interrupt her preparation. There would be time to talk later—right now, they both had more races ahead.
After four more preliminary heats, the final 60m qualification list confirmed what Coach had predicted—Miles had advanced to finals with the seventh-fastest time overall. Not ideal position, but in the field. His first national-level final awaited tomorrow.
With his 300m preliminary still hours away, Miles refueled and rested according to Coach's plan. Andre competed in his 400m preliminary, qualifying second in his heat for the final. The team established a small base in the bleachers, allowing them to monitor results while staying off their feet.
It was during this downtime that Miles finally had a chance to check his phone:
saw ur 60. solid race. thompson's a beast tho
He smiled, typing back: facts. dude's on another level. u warming up yet?
starting in 30. nervous af
you got this. just run your race
easy for u to say mr. national record 🙄
speaking of which, gotta get ready for my 300 soon. good luck
u too. see u trackside
The time between races passed more quickly than Miles expected. Soon he was back in preparation mode, moving through his activation routine for the 300m. This was his event—the distance where he'd made his mark, broken the national freshman record, established himself as more than just a promising talent.
The Velocity System reactivated as he began his final warmup:
300m Preliminary Analysis
Primary competitors: Williams (FL) - SR, Grayson (PA) - SR
Race strategy: Controlled first 100m, push back straight, maintain form through final curve Technical focus: Arm carriage at maximum velocity, stride efficiency under fatigue
As first call came for the 300m, Miles felt a different kind of readiness than before his 60m. There, he'd been stepping into somewhat unfamiliar territory against established stars. Here, he arrived with credentials—a national record to his name and a time that had turned heads across the country.
In the clerk's area, he could feel the shift in how competitors regarded him—not just as a freshman anomaly, but as a legitimate threat. Williams, the Florida senior, studied him with particular intensity as they waited to be led to the track.
"Heard about your record," Williams said finally. "Thirty-three ninety-nine as a freshman is no joke."
"Thanks," Miles replied, unsure what else to say.
"Just so you know," Williams added, his tone friendly but competitive, "that record's impressive, but this is a different stage. Nationals separates the real ones from the hype."
The comment wasn't malicious, just a veteran establishing psychological territory. Miles nodded but said nothing, letting his performance do the talking.
When they were led onto the track, Miles took in the championship atmosphere fully for the first time. The stands had filled considerably since the morning, with coaches, scouts, and spectators creating a steady buzz of anticipation. Somewhere in that crowd, his competition over, Andre would be watching. And somewhere, perhaps, Kayla was preparing for her own 300m that would follow directly after.
"Heat One of the men's 300 meters," the announcer's voice echoed through the facility. "In lane four, from Parkway High School in Florida, senior James Williams. Lane five, from Easton Academy in Pennsylvania, senior Tyler Grayson. Lane six, from Westridge High School in New York, freshman Miles Carter..."
As Miles settled into his blocks in lane six, he felt a calm focus descend. The outer lane wasn't ideal—he'd be running blind for most of the race, unable to see his competitors until the final stretch. But the training with Johnson had prepared him for exactly this scenario.
"Runners to your marks."
Miles found his position, the periphery of his awareness registering the hushed anticipation in the facility.
"Set."
He raised his hips, weight balanced perfectly, Johnson's technical adjustments now fully integrated into his start position.
The gun fired, and Miles drove out with controlled power. Lane six required a measured first fifty meters to avoid burning out early. He settled into his rhythm through the first curve, feeling the hydraulic track's response beneath his spikes.
As they hit the back straight, Miles could sense more than see that Williams had taken an aggressive early lead, pushing the pace from lane four. Grayson in five was matching the tempo, creating a challenge Miles hadn't faced at States.
The Velocity System provided real-time feedback:
Current position: 3rd, -0.3s behind leader
Pace analysis: Leaders pushing unsustainable tempo
Maintain race plan; optimal execution will close gap in final 100m
Miles trusted the assessment, maintaining his planned pace rather than chasing too early. As they approached the second curve—where the 300m truly became brutal—his patience began to pay dividends. Williams's early pace was exacting its toll, his form showing subtle signs of deterioration.
Miles attacked the curve as Johnson had taught him, maintaining his arm carriage and posture while others began to break down. He moved past Grayson halfway through the turn, setting his sights on Williams as they entered the final straight.
The gap narrowed with each stride, Miles's superior endurance and technical efficiency pulling him even with Williams with thirty meters remaining. They battled stride for stride down the final stretch, both athletes driving through mounting fatigue.
In the final ten meters, Miles found one last gear, his turnover rate increasing just enough to pull ahead by half a stride as they crossed the line. He checked the scoreboard immediately:
Carter (NY) - 34.12
Williams (FL) - 34.19
Grayson (PA) - 34.48
Victory in his preliminary heat, but the time was slower than his record—a reminder that championship racing was about placement first, times second. Still, it was enough to qualify him automatically for tomorrow's final.
"Damn, freshman," Williams gasped beside him as they recovered. "You closed like a beast."
"Good race," Miles managed between breaths. "You pushed the pace."
"Finals tomorrow will be different," Williams promised, though his tone held respect rather than threat. "Coleman in heat two ran thirty-three eighty-five last week."
Miles nodded, filing away the information. The competition level continued to rise.
As they exited the track, Miles caught sight of the girls' 300m competitors being led in for their preliminary heats. Kayla was among them, her navy Central uniform now visible beneath her warmup jacket. Their eyes met briefly as they passed each other, no opportunity for words in the structured movement of athletes, but her small smile carried both congratulations and determination.
Coach Dormer met Miles at the edge of the competition area. "Smart race," he said approvingly. "Patience paid off. Final will be faster—Coleman, Williams, and Henderson from heat three all broke thirty-four-fifty."
"I've got more in the tank," Miles assured him, already thinking about adjustments for the final.
"Good. Recovery protocol now, then we'll watch Fisher's heat."
Miles blinked, surprised by Coach's explicit acknowledgment of his interest in Kayla's race. Coach Dormer's expression revealed nothing, but there was a hint of understanding in his tone.
After completing his initial recovery routine, Miles made his way to the viewing area with Coach. They arrived just as the first heat of the girls' 300m was finishing. Kayla would be in heat three, but watching the earlier heats provided valuable information about pace and tactics on this track.
The Velocity System, still in analysis mode from his own race, offered an unexpected assessment: External race analysis: Girls' 300m
Heat 1 winner: 41.23 - Conservative race strategy
Heat 2 leader (Thompson) employing aggressive first 200m
As the second heat concluded, Miles spotted Kayla moving into position with her heat. She looked focused, her pre-race routine methodical as officials directed the athletes to their lanes. The navy sweatshirt was gone now, replaced by Central's maroon uniform, but the gold earrings caught the light as she moved.
"Heat Three of the women's 300 meters," the announcer called. "In lane four, from Roosevelt High School in Illinois, senior Aisha Washington. Lane five, from Central High School in New York, sophomore Kayla Fisher. Lane six, from Westlake Academy in Georgia, junior Mia Patterson..."
Miles found himself unusually invested in a race he wasn't running. He watched Kayla settle into her blocks in lane five, her setup clean and precise. Whatever nerves she might have felt in their texts were invisible now, replaced by competitive focus.
"Runners to your marks."
The athletes took their positions.
"Set."
Miles found himself leaning forward slightly as the gun sounded, as if he could somehow transfer his energy to Kayla's race. She exploded from the blocks with impressive power, establishing good position through the first fifty meters.
Washington from Illinois set an aggressive early pace from lane four, pushing Kayla to respond. They rounded the first curve nearly even, then battled down the back straight with neither giving ground.
"Fisher's running a smart race," Coach Dormer observed, his technical assessment surprising Miles. "Good position, not chasing Washington's pace."
Miles nodded, seeing exactly what Coach meant. Kayla was running her own race, maintaining form while Washington began showing subtle signs of fatigue approaching the second curve.
As they entered the final hundred meters, Kayla made her move, gradually pulling even with Washington. The two sprinters battled down the final straight, neither yielding an inch, before leaning together at the finish line.
The scoreboard flashed the results:
Washington (IL) - 40.22
Fisher (NY) - 40.24
Patterson (GA) - 40.86
A photo finish for first, with Kayla advancing to finals by a comfortable margin over third. Miles felt an unexpected surge of pride watching her execute such a tactically sound race at this level.
"Good race analysis by Fisher," Coach commented, standing to leave. "Team meeting back at the hotel at six. Recovery and preparation for tomorrow's finals."
Miles nodded, watching as Kayla exited the track area. He debated trying to find her to offer congratulations, but the facility's structured movement of athletes and scheduled team departures made it difficult.
His phone vibrated in his pocket: saw ur 300. clean win. nice patience on the backstretch
He smiled, typing back: just watched yours too. photo finish 🔥
so close! but made finals, that's what matters
exactly. recovery time now i guess
unfortunately. central team heading back to hotel soon. ice cream plans still on for tomorrow?
100%. good luck in finals
u too. btw that ice cream charm must be working 👀
Miles found himself smiling as he rejoined his teammates for their return to the hotel. Day One of Nationals had delivered exactly what it promised—elite competition, championship pressure, and performances that demanded his absolute best.
Back at the hotel, the Westridge qualifiers gathered for Coach Dormer's finals preparation meeting. Four of their five athletes had advanced—Andre in the 400m, Trey in the hurdles, Devin in the 1600m, and Miles in both the 60m and 300m.
"Tomorrow is about execution under maximum pressure," Coach began. "You've all proven you belong at this level by qualifying for finals. Now it's about bringing your best when it matters most."
He reviewed each athlete's performance, offering specific tactical adjustments for the finals. When he reached Miles, his assessment was characteristically precise.
"Carter, your sixty needs faster turnover in the final twenty meters. Thompson and Marshall both closed better. In the three hundred, patience worked well today, but Coleman will push a faster overall pace tomorrow. You'll need to find the balance between responding and running your race."
"Yes, Coach," Miles nodded, the technical feedback exactly what he needed.
After the meeting, Miles completed his final recovery protocol, stretching thoroughly and using ice on specific areas Coach had identified. The Velocity System provided a comprehensive analysis:
Day One Assessment: Excellent
60m Preliminary: 6.67 (7th qualifier for Finals)
300m Preliminary: 34.12 (1st in heat, 4th overall for Finals)
Recovery priority: Maximum
Finals preparation: Technical adjustments in progress
Competition analysis downloading...
As Miles prepared for bed, his phone buzzed one more time: central team just watched race videos. coach says your arm drive is textbook. i said you had a good teacher
olympic medalist + crazy good high school coach = decent form i guess
"decent" he says. so humble 🙄
for real tho, your finish was impressive. washington thought she had you
thanks. still can't believe we're both in nationals finals. wild
see you at the finish line tomorrow. literally
and then ice cream. win or lose
def win tho
Miles smiled, setting his phone aside. Tomorrow would bring the highest-pressure races of his young career—national finals against the country's elite. But somehow, knowing Kayla would be there too, facing the same challenges, made it feel more manageable.
As he drifted toward sleep, the Velocity System offered one final notification: Motivation assessment: Optimal
Technical preparation: Complete
Mental readiness: 97%
Sleep quality priority: Maximum
Miles dismissed the notification, his final thought before sleep claiming him a simple one: whatever happened tomorrow on the national stage, he was ready.