A runner stands apart. You don’t need to look twice. The lean muscles, the poised stance, the effortless readiness—it’s all there, waiting for the next burst of speed.

And when the open space calls, they don’t just run. They glide.

Watching a greyhound take off is pure joy. The stretch, the arc, the rhythm—it’s movement at its most natural, most beautiful.

And when the sun begins to set, framing the runner in gold, it’s more than just a sight. It’s a moment.