Eldersburg Narrative

I go to the grass by where we will line up for the race and I put my spikes on. Making sure every spike is tight; I double knot the laces and stand up. Now my stomach really hurts. The nerves of a runner before a race are one of the worst things to handle. The announcer puts me in line and I take a deep breath once it’s my time to go up to the blocks. I set up my blocks for my standards and take off my sweats. The breeze hits my thighs as my tank top flows from side to side. The sun wishes me good luck just before I start my race. I slightly shake as the announcer tells us, “Runners to your mark!” and I get down. Shaking more vigorously now, my heart is pounding in my chest. It seems like hours waiting for him to yell, “Get set!” “Go!” but once he does I know it’s go time. I push off my blocks, and I run as fast as I can. I can feel my legs moving together in motion as the balls of my feet dig into the track. My spikes are doing their job in helping me grip to the surface as I make my way to the finish line. Neck and neck with the girl next to me I hope she gets winded out near the end and slows down so I can just scarcely make it past her. I feel like I am running as fast as a horse. Crossing that finish line and coming to a slow stop, I breathe heavily as I exhale in relief of being over. I did it, I’m done… and I did well. My legs raw, I get off the track. (AB) Some fellow sprinters congratulate me as I do the same to them. That is what’s nice about track, it seems like most of the people are very friendly. They have no problem congratulating you or talking to you about how nervous they are before a race. We know we are all in the same boat and all we want is to succeed. Every blue moon a distance runner will congratulate a sprinter but I don’t think it has ever happened to me. I don’t know if they are just caught up in their own world or if they are just being stingy about the whole

The highs and lows of competition have constructed in me into an entirely new athlete. My first year of track and field and I made it to Far East by qualifying in the 4x800 relay. I guess you could call it beginner's luck. I would call it dedication and confidence. After almost a week of running and jumping events, the time has come to announce the winners of the banners. With the awkward silence sitting and waiting for the results to be told along with the rest of the crowd, the announcer finally broke the silence. “The D2 Girls Track Champions of 2015 is Zama American High.” This one night as emotional as an groom seeing his bride walk down the aisle knowing that she is all his. Have you ever wanted to take a moment and breathe in the air of accomplishing your

I soon snapped out of this state, hastily trying to stretch my muscles, which were cramping because I was so anxious. I heard the announcer yell “Ready, Set, Go!” followed by the pop of the starting pistol. Startled I took off running as fast as I could momentary forgetting to pace myself. I knew I would run out of energy if I didn’t do something to correct myself, so I slowed down and matched my breath to my steps. This way I could get an adequate amount of air into my lungs for aerobic respiration. By doing this I cruised through the first mile of the

Greater lawrence, pass him, Sprint. So i finish on the floor dying couldn’t breath properly so i deep breaths and needed water my mouth was dry. After the race was over needed time to process like what happen in the beginning i knew we’re going to face greater lowell next week needed to be prepared for the time being. I needed to fix on my start so i don’t have to be the hero. I need to work on is my breathing it didn’t go so well and how to keep a pace with someone so i won’t lose the guy and cost the team some points if i do that well i’m gold. I needed to workout my legs so they won’t hurt during in races. The most important i have to do is keep my body calm and mind during the race next week. I knew in my next race it’s not all about having speed and it was mostly having a good mentality. So i work on a one week later race against greater lowell again i have done better which i did before at least i had the knowledge of the course to back that up it was a great

I ran back up the hill to our camp, trying to move quickly without wasting too much energy, took my inhaler, and rushed back down the hill. Soon, it was time for the race to start. The officials gave an overview of information about the race and how it would start. The official behind us blew a long whistle. We stood, motionless, just waiting for that starting gunshot. Pow! The race was off. I sprinted out of the pack. I tried to find a good pace and settle in. We ran up a few hills, and then we made it to the first entrance to the creek. Unintelligently, I didn’t slow down very much going into the creek. Because I didn’t slow down, I splashed into the creek with a belly flop, almost submerging my whole body underwater. I got up quickly, then began to climb up the mud wall. I clawed at that wall like it was my enemy. I avoided the rope, even though it actually wasn’t that busy at the moment. I was too focused to switch strategies. We continued to run on, passing many fans, their cheers a chaotic blur. We passed through the second part of the creek, which was not nearly as deep. It was only about mid-shin to knee level, so I made my way through just fine. We ran all over the vineyard. I wasn’t feeling too awful. I was just caught up in the thrill of the race! We made it to the cornfields, and there were lots of small hills. I ran through them staring at the ground, and I kept seeing the same pair of shoes. For some strange reason, I kept staring at those shoes. People do crazy things when they run, you could say! Anyways, I passed the person wearing those shoes. We ran away from the corn fields and under a bridge. I was coming closer and closer to the finish. I was struggling to continue, but I would not quit! I pushed through the pain, but by the end of the race, I was just done. I saw the final hill in front of me. It was one of the biggest hills on the course, if not the biggest, and it was definitely the most difficult after

Growing up in small-town Pflugerville, I never imagined what life would be like outside of a "country" area - until I moved to Killeen, Texas. Killeen is a town full of hot-headed, military, city-slickers that clog up the highway like ants. Often, I think of times when I was younger - looking up at the clear, blue, open skies; the smell of fresh-cut grass always awakened my senses. Now, I look up and I see wires, buildings, cars, and smog. They always say "There is no place like home," and in this case, there are no two places that differ more than my hometown and the town I live in now. The speed of life, the buildings, and most of all, the crime rates are all very new to me. The world is like bowl of fruit, sometimes the taste of each point on a map can differ as greatly as apples and oranges.

The home stretch is about 120 feet away, and we’re giving it all we have. My legs are kicking so fast I’m barely in the saddle. I feel like I’m forgetting to breathe, as my breaths are far and few between. Finally, we get to the timer, and the race is over. I round him off to get him to slow down and eventually stop. Dust flies everywhere as my supportive family cheers. Anxiously a waiting our time, we catch our breaths. Finally, the announcement is called: “20.13 seconds for Marissa and Shyster.” I give Shyster a huge hug around his

As I struggled to continue running on that August afternoon just four months ago, the blinding rays of sunlight shone down upon me. The skin-piercing rays of sunlight, along with the high heat and humidity, overpowered anyone that dared to take a step outside. My face glistening with sweat was proof of that. I once again automatically raised my right foot as my left racing spike hit the damp ground, still soggy from the previous day’s rain. With my blue eyes focused on the maze, which was the North Branch Golf Course, a.k.a. the North Decatur High School cross country course. North Decatur High School’s cross country course, I swung my rather thin arms to and fro and my dark blond ponytail bobbed with every step. Unfortunately, few markers or signs pointed the way. Consequently, I, along with the rest of the herd of about two dozen high school maze runners from four area schools, was left wondering where to go. My completely royal blue uniform glistened with sweat, and my breath cackled as I searched ahead for a faded yellow flag set in the short muddy grass marking the way. The fact it was the first meet of my junior season already made my task difficult enough; not knowing where to go just made matters worse. Fortunately, I recognized this final part of the

In my hometown could you find friendly people with stalls lined along Main Street. Newly picked flowers, glistening apples, and crisp bottled honey surrounded me. It was the monthly farmer’s market, after all. Going to the county fair proved to be a worthwhile pastime too. Mooing cows filled my ears while to my left I could see a group of kids smoking a blunt. My school was filled with whispers, gossiping or uttering the n-word while others murmured proudly of how they were going to vote for Donald Trump. This town of 4,000 residents was home — and it could also be your home too. Known for its history, people, and activities, there are many surprises located in this small yet cozy village.

“What I wasn't even prepared?!” filled my mind as I watched everyone dash before me, leading the race as I began to realize the race has begun.

I was completely overtaken by small, simple things: the slowly setting sun and the intricate shadows it displayed on the bleachers; the feeling of the turf under my legs and back; the scent of the grilling, concession stand hot dogs drifting by every few minutes mixed with the smell of the track; and the coaches and athletes walking around me, always with somewhere to go, people to time, splits to discuss. I just lay there soaking it all in, experiencing life anew, “so concerned with the immediate.” I felt “so childlike, so awakened” like I was rediscovering the beauty of the

A hometown is exactly what it sounds like — a home. Home is what makes us who we are, either individually from personal experiences or collectively from shared phenomenons. My hometown instilled within me two major value sets. One, a burden for service, which comes from a broken heartedness towards a community which needs help, and another, a belief in family, which comes from both my actual family and from the small family-like community which I grew up in. These roots of myself are by far of the greatest significance of who I am,

My stomach cringed as I stepped out of the car and into the cold winter air. My chest was pounding as my heart started to race. I could feel the perspiration trickle down my spine. As I walked towards the boathouse I could see the familiar sight of the coach boats working hard on the water, setting up the racecourse. Coaches, parents, rivals and a small crowd of onlookers gathered on the hill, close to the finish line. Every emotion runs through my mind: the feeling of sadness, the feeling of happiness, the feeling of regret. It feels as if I have raced more than a thousand times, however I can never shake the nervousness away. In every regatta I have attended, I have raced in doubles, quads and eights. However, this will be the first time I compete in a single. My teammates and my coaches are depending on me to bring home a win.

Race Day has finally arrived, or should I say “Match Day”, in this case. After several months of training and preparation, everything I have done up to this point is now in God’s hands. After a restless night of sleep, I wake up anxious to begin a new journey in this marathon called “life”. Finally, only 5 minutes till race time and everyone begins to shuffle forward. The gun is fired. At first the pace is slow and steady, but that’s OK. After all, 26.2 miles is a long way; no need to worry now. The goal is to finish the last half stronger and faster than the first.

“30:27.” I read on the clock as I finished one of the worst races of my life. A 30:27 isn’t even a 10 minute mile. I knew that this was significantly slower that my first time of the season, and I was vanquished. Frustration overtook me when I recalled about how hard I practiced to obtain a worse time.