Chalking the Arena

I marched straight out of the tent and headed back to the lot by the hall to set up real terms for anyone looking to race. On the edge of the dirt path, I spotted a chunky chunk of dried white clay half-buried in the gravel. I scooped it up, dropped flat onto my knees on a wide concrete slab, and bore down with all my weight. Grinding the chalky lump hard against the rough stone, I dragged thick white lines to box out a three-lane sprint course with a solid finish gate at the end. My fingers ended up caked in white dust, but that track is completely official now.