Why not.
I warn you. It's 2 in the morning and nothing makes sense.

Writer's Block Journal Prompt: Tired.
The fibers that held his chest together and his lungs in tact must surely be breaking. With each raspy, ragged breath (greedily gulping down air) they stretched farther apart.
The cold wind slammed against his too large jersey, pushing him backwards like a million hands raised in protest to his progress.
Each time his blistered foot pounded into the dusty gray gravel underneath, a shudder passed through him.
It was too much, he thought, to much. He couldn't possibly go on.
Another foot slammed into the ground and another shudder passed through, rattling his brain.
A winded scream escaped his throat. He shook his head violently from side to side and flung his arms outwards, letting pressure and force an gravity take control.
His hair, saturated with sweat, crashed into his forehead as he stopped abruptly on the track.
His feet throbbed, his chest ached and bled. Defeated, his hands gripped his knees and he crumpled into a bending position.
His lungs couldn't take in enough air, but he couldn't stop trying.
The roar of the other runners drowned out the sound of his panting as they swarmed past him.
He couldn't keep up. He was too exhausted. He lost the race.
What he wouldn't give for sweet, blissful sleep.
---

You were warned. BTW, I'm no longer satisfied with this.