Granted, the climax of a slow building campaign is extremely satisfying, just look at the end of most sport movies.
But I’d like to put forward a competitor which rivals the satisfaction of momentum with equally levels of impressiveness.
It’s the swift kick and the lightning fast punch hidden in the skimpiest of sequences and minimal use of language.
For example:
Scott lay there, thinking about how hopeless it all was. He wasn’t even halfway done, and Sweeney was already too far ahead for him to see. Ferg Hawke was halfway up to the Father Crowley lookout, and Scott hadn’t even started the climb yet. And the wind! It was like running into the blast of a jet engine. A couple of miles back, Scott had tried to cool off by sinking his entire head and torso into a giant cooler full of ice and holding himself underwater until his lungs were screaming. As soon as he got out, he was roasting again.
There’s no way Scott told himself. You’re done. You’d have to do something totally sick to win this thing now.
Sick like what?
Like starting all over again. Like pretending you just woke up from a great night’s sleep and the race hasn’t even started yet. You’d have to run the next eighty miles as fast as you’ve ever run eighty miles in your life.
No chance Jerker.
Yeah I know.
For ten minutes, Scott lay like a corpse. Then he got up and did it, shattering the Badwater record with a time of 24:36
…
The matter of fact nature of it all makes it all the more impressive.
Thomas Duggan 