Personal Narrative Essay: Well-Lit Underground Running Track

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

Walking up to the track I take a deep breath and lace up my spikes they fit like a glove. My team and I start warm ups. Finally it’s race time. I’m on the starting line and my heart is racing. I descend down my starting blocks and place my hands on my spots. The referee says set and points the gun into the air. All runners get into

I love track. I love everything about it, from the feelings of the wind blowing on my face to the feeling of pretty much being the best runner on my team. Until my dreams got crushed. I got in a car accident. I still remember everything that happened in the car crash. My leg was stuck, twisted. My worst fear came true, my leg had to be cut off.The feeling of me knowing I won’t be able to run again has crushed me. I can’t help but think that because of this car crash my whole life is going to change. I was so depressed. I wouldn’t eat, I wouldn’t talk to anyone who visited. It hurt to know that everything my mom, the doctor, my best friend told me I know and they know wasn’t true. Why couldn’t my arm get cut off or something, just not my leg!

I was on the track running my laps and ruminating on the victory I had just attained. My next match would determine who would win the war. As I ran, a light sweat lathered my body,

When I was in seventh grade I fell in love. Not with a person, but a sport. I fell in love with track. I enjoyed the workouts, the races, the team, the events, the meets, but most of all I had found a passion for sprinting. I worked everyday during practice to prepare for the meets. I pushed myself as hard as I could and never gave up. I couldn’t get enough of it. I was mad for the feeling of your lungs bursting for air and your legs burning with pain. The long, exhausting workouts, the freezing practices, and the crazy memories you can make. There was nothing about it that I found unlikeable. Track was consuming my thoughts, I couldn’t stop. I was in love with it in every single way.

Beads of sweat slip silently off my skin. I feel my heart steadily thumping, a soft hum, and my stomach clenched in unforgiving knots. Every muscle, tendon and ligament quivers in the stillness of anticipation. Finally, the thundering base of the gunshot sounds, and my body bursts off the starting line. Long strides cut through the air, bouncing off the balls of my feet. My arms pump to keep pace, adrenaline rushing throughout the race.

"Hmm, I think I'll wake up tomorrow and run 10 miles!", said no non Cross Country runner ever. This is a prime example of why a lot of people don't do it. It is a very rigorous sport that requires a very special type of person to participate in. What kind of people does Cross Country attract? If you asked me, I would say that Cross Country is the toughest, geekiest sport there is.

One day me and Ashton were dirt biking. I was beating Ashton all day. Ashton got so mad that he clipped my handlebars. I fell face first on the ground hitting my head so hard that I had to go to the clinic. But it was so bad that they thought I broke my neck. At first they were going to send me in an ambulance to Stanford Hospital. But then they thought I had broken my neck so they wanted me to fly in a helicopter all the way to Sanford hospital. But I didn't so my dad just took me home. Well back to the RV. When we came back I was still the best one there besides the adults. Booyah . Ashton got really mad. It was a really fun day after all.

My first year of track was one of the most humbling experiences of my life. Each step I took as I ran, I felt was an accomplishment. I felt proud of myself and really committed to track. Through off season work, track practice and meets I became a better, stronger athlete. I actually felt as though I was apart of a team.

As the early morning of the meet begins the world's “Runners to your mark!” are shouted to the racers. I fell my heart beating out of my heart, my legs go numb as I start to go into my blocks. The sight of every parent and teammate in the stands become blurry. Suddenly, the gun goes off and I’m out of the starting

and the vastly overpowering “Bang” of the gun cut off my dialogue, as well as sending me and the other runners dashing to the finish line. I took a different approach to running this relatively small 200 meter distance than I did in my previous race. Instead of a slow start and building up to a sprint, I took off as fast as a cheetah. As I turned around the large corner, I see another runner quickly closing in on my location. I concentrated what little energy I had left into winning this race. However, my efforts were not enough to overcome the other runner, and I bolted across the finish line with 2nd place.

Bang! The gun had gone off. My feet pounded forward on the track taking care not to hit any of the thirty-two other feet that were all competing for the same spot—first. I pushed hard out of the starting line so that I didn't get boxed in and then fought my way through the first hundred meters to earn my place amongst the other runners.

This was one of those full weeks where I have a full heart and I can't begin to fully appreciate much less chronicle ALL the FULL racing days,

Thud Thud Thud! We were slipping and sliding on the freezing cold ice. And snow was softly coming down. The sledding race was about to start. I was shaking I was so excited.

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.