Personal Narrative-Running Team

The weather is perfect for racing: not too hot, not too humid, not too windy. I dash down the twisted trails in the woods, trying not to stumble on the gnarled roots protruding from the dirt. My spikes puncture the soft earth with every stride, and my legs repeatedly pound on the ground, soreness surging through them. As sweat trickles down my face and dirt smears across my aching calves, I ascend a steep hill, trying to bring forth the strength I have accumulated throughout endless hours of practice. Now that I am nearing the final two hundred meters, I must force my body to begin sprinting. Breathing heavily, I dart for the imminent finish line, trying to beat the uninterrupted tick of the timer. Even though the crowd surrounds all around me, I can barely hear their animated cheers, because all I can focus on is crossing the line before the girl next to me. I can feel adrenaline surging through my body, and I widen my stride to cap off the remaining distance. When I glance at my Garmin watch, a new personal best time flashes across the screen. I realize that all of the gruelling work I have put in is worth the final result: happiness. (Snapshot Lead)

Feeling exhausted, I focus on my breathing. I breath in through my nose and then out through my mouth, breath in and out. Repeat. After passing the mile mark, my coach is shrieking for me to relax, because I am on my way to qualify for cross country states. The top twenty girls qualify, and I have been dreaming of this day since freshman year. All I have to do is hold my position, and then I am golden. Suddenly, my legs begin to feel like jello. My running partner slowly fades ahead of me, and I cannot keep up. It feels like I am running backwards as the rest of my teammates pass me one by one. Fighting fatigue, I tell myself I am finishing this race, whether or not I have to crawl like a turtle to do so. I am crossing that finish line.

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

We were out for vengeance, and as the first heat came to a close, the three remaining teams lined up. Our team was Brandon Reid starting off the blocks, Isaiah running the second leg, me securing the third, and Bawa trying to end the race in strong fashion. As I loosened my legs up, the gun sounded, and I watched Brandon get off to a quick start. Before I knew it, Isaiah was 10m behind me and was ready to pass the baton. As I grabbed the baton from Isaiah, I noticed I was a few meters behind a kid from Avon. Never, ever again I thought. My legs planted and exploded off the ground in a simultaneous motion. I was like a cheetah chasing after a gazelle. As the wind blew through my cleanly cut hair, I began to close the gap between myself and the man ahead. In the closing 20m, I tried my hardest to catch the Avon kid, but I couldn’t. As I passed the baton to Bawa, my heart sank. As my chin dipped to my chest so I could only notice the ground, I realized I did not run the fastest 100m. At the end of the race, we finished second behind Avon, again. My arms tensed and my stomach dropped. Losing to Avon was the worst possible ending to my track season. However, my head would be picked up by a more important event that followed days after the Founders League Tournament.

Suddenly, with no warning, two runners of the grade below me pulled ahead. I couldn’t believe it! They were a year younger than me, yet they were faster. However, I knew I wouldn’t be able to catch up even at my best. As I neared the 100 meter line, I started to convert into a jogging pace and got my bearings. I allowed myself to breathe again and relax but still trying to run my best. I was in 3rd place with the two kids in front of me about 50 meters away. I cleared my mind and just concentrated on breathing; taking a deep breath in through my nose, and letting it all out of my mouth. I was starting to feel the fatigue in my muscles and my legs are crying for rest, but I refused. I started hearing heavy breathing noises and loud footsteps behind me, steadily catching up. I risked a peek to my left and was horrified and yet surprised that my chubby classmate was right on my heels. I was not going to be beaten again and into 4th place. I pushed myself harder and pumped my legs and arms with renewed energy. All my blood rushed to my head and I felt like a locomotive cutting through the cold air. As we ran around the bend, we were head to head and trying to outdo each other. He

Focusing on the course that lay ahead, chills slithered down my back. The shot of the reverberating gun fired and I charged with my heart pounding like the sound of a drum. With my arms pumping and legs moving vigorously onto the course, I was the average runner in battle with my mind. My teammates leaped and hopped with excitement as I bolted; I pictured my body gracefully drifting through the air while the world stood silent. The last grueling hundred meters, I thrusted my body to the end of the finish line while the other runners stood in utter awe of my amateur performance, I flailed to the ground. Staring up at the sky, as I sat breathless and fatigued, engulfed in deep thought. I could feel the wind in my face and the dirt in my mouth. I was swept away by the calm before the storm, the exhilaration, the immense amount of heart each individual had, but mostly the passion for running.

I jogged over to my bag, and as I grabbed my spikes, I heard many of my teammates shout, “Good luck, Haley! You’ve got this!”. I nodded my head and muttered a “Thanks guys” as I quickly took off to go check in. Anxiety was already beginning to fill my stomach. I could feel the tingly sensation that some people called “butterflies” beginning to form. The feeling sunk in my stomach and remained their uncomfortably. “Alright, calm down. I still have 25 minutes till race time”, I thought to myself. Some nerves were good, but the anxiety part was just unnecessary. As I got to the check-in tent, I gave them my name, and returned to the middle of the football field where countless other hurdlers were starting to warm up. I knew who most of my competitors in my heat were going to be. To my left, I could spy a short and skinny girl with long, brown curly hair, a red uniform, and bright blue spikes who was most likely the fastest girl in the race. She was seeded 3rd in state and had been hurdling for years. However, instead of being focused on the competitors, I was focused on hitting the qualifying time that I had been aiming at the whole season. This aspect of the race brought a slight breath of fresh, soothing air to my lungs because it meant the race was in my control and was something I could dictate. I began to set up hurdles to start practicing. As I was striding over my last one, another

"What if I don't finish in time?'', ‘'What if I get in last place?'', ‘'When will this be over?" those are the thoughts that went through my mind as I stepped onto the course. I kept thinking to myself "I wonder if I can fake an injury", even though I knew I couldn't. My palms were sweaty and my stomach felt strange. As I looked back, everybody was in their stance ready to run. They sounded the alarm. The race has begun.

Winded, with my legs forfeiting into a stagger, a bilious feeling began to build in my gut as the stark reality of losing began to sink in. I had fallen behind. My window of opportunity was closing by the meter, and my dream to qualify and finish on the podium, becoming more distant, as I watched the other runners make strides towards the finish line. Losing focus had led me to this moment where I was running someone else’s race in which, I have found myself completely OUT of the race.

It is most common for people to mention that their “grit” had developed during a fight to regain a position on a sports team or a committee they were involved in. Mine developed because of the loss of a position on a team, yes, but it wasn’t because I whipped myself into shape and conquered tryouts. Instead, mine developed on the base of a realization. A realization that, although I was passionate about the sport all of my life, it was no longer what I wished to do with my free time. The drive had dimmed down and it was time to move on to another passion that would follow me into adulthood. That passion had been unknown to me at the time, but what I did know was that I wanted to stretch my boundaries. I wanted to connect with more people in

The last formal team I was associated with at C.A.R.T high school. C.A.R.T. high school is comprised of all R.O.P (regional occupation programs), R.O.P. courses teach students about particular careers. At C.A.R.T you choose a subject that you would like to study, I was thoroughly interested in marketing and advertising. In this class throughout the year we worked in groups in which we designed an created our own company. I took the class consecutive years and a lot of experience working in group formats.

This season he has brought a fresh voice and an aggressive mentality pulling out all the stops to make this team a consistent winner again. He has traded fan favorites Jason Heyward, Evan Gattis, Craig Kimbrel, and Justin Upton. You look at those names and you say how are you ever going to win a game again, trust me that's what I was thinking and many other fans were too. The crazy thing is I think we have won every single one of those trades or at least they are even. Let's take a look at what I'm talking

My heart feels like it is about to jump out of my chest. My spikes dig into the grass softened by the rainstorm last night. I am tempted to reach up and wipe the sweat from my temple but I refuse to break my form. I know that I am slowing down, my legs feel like they have miraculously gained twenty pounds. Finally, the finish line enters my field of vision and I can imagine the end. The girl I have been trailing the whole race picks up her pace and as I watch her drive her knees and pump her arms and I can't bring my own body to do the same. I'm just barely ten feet from the finish line when she crosses in front of me. I failed. I couldn't push myself to beat her. I will remember this, and I won't disappoint myself again.

I kneel down, on one knee. I push myself up half way. My knees are bent, and I am on edge as if I am an animal in the jungle, ready to pounce on its next meal. My head rises but only enough to see the track in front of me and the green, fresh cut grass on my left. The white lines with red-brown spaces between them. The anticipation of the race to begin is overwhelming. The sweet smell of fresh cut grass clams me. The starter gun goes off and my feet move faster and faster with each step. I can’t see anyone out of the corners of my eyes. I am in first. The finish line is only a few feet away now! I lower my right foot; just as it lands I feel an abysmal pain in my ankle. I fall. Screaming and yelling out in pain. I come crashing to the ground. My right ankle, it throbs. I have never felt anything so horrible in my life. The pain is beyond indescribable.

It was a scorching day at the Thomas County Central High School softball fields. The girls and I sat in the locker room waiting on coach, we were all anxiously yearning to be called for the mile and a half. Prior to tryout day, coach told us that we would have to make the mile and a half in fifteen minutes in order to eligible for the team. In the back of my mind, I knew I could accomplish the task, running was just a bit different. Coach barged in the locker room and uttered, “Alright everyone meet me at the track, let’s go ahead and get the worse part over with.” I thought to myself, amen.