It's just a fake gun. It can't be too loud , I think, as I stand by my teammates on the bright chalk starting line. I warily watch the red-coated race official as he raises his hand, and my body leans forward unconsciously. The distinct smell of freshly trampled grass, which would become so familiar to me over the next four years, fills my nostrils. I wonder if people really do fall during one of — POP! All conscious thought leaves me...