Tylor Kistler's Nineteen Eighty-Personal Narrative

The race had already been postponed from a previous date, and after having to wait an extra week for our highly anticipated home invite, our entire team was stirring by the time the day finally befell us. It was a reassuring feeling to be able to warm up on the course knowing that every step of the 3.11 mile course had been imprinted into from the time I had started running on it the summer before. Granted the weather wasn’t perfect by any means and the course’s condition was already less than stellar, but I could make do, to be honest I was too excited to even let it

The sun beats down on us making it hotter and hotter by the minute, but I don’t give up. Furthermore, I drank a sip of water while checking my dull blue watch for the time. I am doing great and I just need to keep going. Soon, I pass another turn where tall trees stood in my presence. The shade cools me down as I continued running. I all of a sudden I feel the temperature dropping. Looking up at the sky, I see cumulonimbus clouds pass by as the sun was slowly disappearing. The puffy cotton balls are darkening the sky, as it started to drizzle. It has been just a light drizzle, I thought to myself, no harm to me. The water droplets hit my red, sweaty face, refreshing me by the minute. I run by a board that said mile 13, I was halfway there. Once, I pass the thirteen mile mark the light drizzle turned into a rain shower. Dark brown mud quickly covers the once dirt path. As I run through the path my shoes sank into the mud, leaving imprints of my shoe which soon disappear with all the rain. I look down a blue shoe that is now brown and soggy. I felt the dirty, muddy water, climbing up my shoe by the second and every time I step in the mud it splashes on my shirt as well as my shorts. Running this race got really hard and I was falling behind. All of a sudden a shot a lightning flashes through the sky and thunder as loud as an explosion follows. The harsh wind blew me from left to right pushing me through the path. I had no idea on how I was going to finish this race. I pushed my 16 year old body to keep going. The race operators couldn’t stop the race right now because I was only a mile away from the finish line and plus there were too many people in the race. The thunderstorm just got worse. Twigs and leaves started to fall everywhere covering the path. The lifeless twigs fall to the ground, creating various obstacles for the runners to pass through. I keep running,

It was a hot summer day that happened to be the day if Bryan’s first track meet. He was going to sprint the 100 meter dash, or at least he thought. Many of his peers and his family supported him. The heat was so blistering that you could cook an egg on the pavement. The smell of rubber filled the field as Bryan’s heat was called. As he was setting his blocks, he noticed that the other runners looked very athletic. Bryan was shaking as if someone poured ice down his back. “Runners at your mark,” said the official, “Set,....GO!!” Bryan gave all his might and energy as he exploded off the blocks, only to face plant onto the pavement. Pain and embarrassment filled his face, which felt like the sun had just given him a kiss. All he wanted to do

Then suddenly, I got up and tried to find a way out. But, after hours of searching and pounding, I decided to give up. I was exhausted and fell

The 30A 10K took place on Thanksgiving along the county highway 30A, which runs along the panhandle of Florida. My mom’s side of the family gathered annually at Rosemary Beach, the beginning and finish for the 6.2 mile event. And this particular year, 2016, it was above eighty degrees and sunny. I had started the race in good spirits. But by the last mile, I was struggling to keep my eyes open. It felt as if weights were attached to my eyelids, and were dragging me down. My body wanted to give up running, to quit and walk to the finish line. For minutes that seemed like hours, the grand structures that proclaimed Alys Beach, a seaside village adjacent to Rosemary Beach, drew closer. After I passed Alys Beach, the finish line would be in sight. Finally, the inflatable arch that promised rest appeared on the horizon. It took ages that were in reality minutes for me to get there, but somehow, I did. All I can remember is collapsing into a kind old woman’s arms and being led to the grass. There I lay, and as extended family accumulated around me, they began to worry.

Here we go again, I thought to myself. It was a exceptionally hot day as I had almost sweated through my jersey before the start. It’s going to be a very rough race. A slapping sound echoed as runners began hitting their legs to attain lose muscles as if the heat had not done that enough. The official raised his arms parallel to the ground and a hush swept over the crowd. A long

I sighed. My mom and dad tried to calm me down, and I knew that what they were saying was right, but the pressure was really inside of me. Mentally, I was just overwhelmed.

It was a blistering summer evening at the Terre Haute Motor Speedway. The air was filled with rambunctious cheering from the crowd, the aroma of over sprayed WD-40 and the enthusiastic roars of the events race caller being projected over the loud speaker. Modifieds, Super Modifieds, Midgets and Sprint cars were being delicately pulled out of their sponsor illustrated trailers; gears and tires lay scattered across the dirt near all the racers jacks like an eccentric game of operation ready to be played. Everything seemed to be going the way it always had before each race I'd driven, everything but the unexpected ill-fated feeling I had in my abdomen disclosing something was amiss, that this could very well be my last race ever.

My cross country team had a meet in Statesboro, Georgia. The bus rumbled into the grass parking lot of an old golf course. As the wheels screeched to a stop, an awkward silence fell over the team like a sheet. Nervous looks were shared as we all clambered off. Stepping down from the last step, I slammed into the suffocating stale blazing air like a brick wall. It took my eyes a few seconds to adjust, the fiery globe glaring at me from the sky. There were some white cotton candy clouds in the distance, but they weren’t too intimidating. Behind me strode Alex, her eyes narrowed into slits. Alex was one of the best runners on the team. She always stayed ahead of me. Today, she had her short brown hair drawn back into a ponytail and was

I listened to my tennis-shoe-clad feet hitting the track. Smack! Smack! “C’mon Brody! My coach shouted. “finish strong!” I was on my last interval and I knew my legs were shaking. We had probably run ten miles today and my body knew it. But when I run long distances, I just repeat this mantra my coach had told me and the team. We chanted it before every meet. “One step, one stride, one lap at a time” I finished my last lap, and sat down and pulled off my shoes. I had had a great day at school. I got this test back, and I aced it. My friends had been funny, the teachers had been nice, and I had almost gotten a new personal record in track. I was walking home with my best friend Margo. She was my neighbor, almost-sister, and I had known her since I was two. When I turned the corner onto my block and saw my dad on the porch, I knew it was going to be a long night. He already had a beer in his hand, and it definitely wouldn’t be his last before the night was up. “Hey Kat! ” he slurred, struggling to enunciate his words. I ignored him and walked up to my bedroom. I needed to do my homework, eat a big dinner, and then go to bed. It was the big quarter-final meet tomorrow and I needed to be on my best game. I had run five miles that day in track and I was pooped.

December 25, 2013, was the day. “Red racer” was the name. Today was my day. As I lined up next to my cousins I looked over and saw the competitive side that runs through each one of our veins. I glanced down at my pride and joy and took my final deep breath before adjusting my focus towards my Uncle Gil’s raised arm. From that point all I remember is my uncle dropping his arm and everybody racing down the hill toward the finish line. Snow covered my face, mounded in my boots, and brimmed my snow jacket. I got to the bottom and looked up knowing that nobody was going to be even near the finish line where I was, but to my

As I begin to stretch my legs to run I feel the tightness of my thigh begin to loosen. I hear the mumbles of all of my teammates as they surround near me. The wind plays with the leaves tuning towards the ears to those who listen. The birds sway from tree to tree seeking adventure. Before I know it, our coach calls us over to do some laps. While I brace myself for the first one I take a deep breath, enough to make

A few minutes before celebrating my victory, I saw myself, a little overwrought, climbing onto the starting block. Putting the right foot behind my body and the other foot in front at the edge of the block. After the “take your marks” command, every muscle in my body gets tense and ready to explode. As the beep ring, I released my body and swim as fast as I can like it was a matter of life and death. The atmosphere is extremely tense until my hands hit the wall, I feel like a fish jumping out of the water as I gasp for breath and feel tightness in the chest. At that instant, I gained an inexplicable satisfaction and a sense of high accomplishment. It was difficult to describe the amount of joy I felt when I won the first place in the race.

Dashing to the transition area, I mentally prepared myself for the next portion of my competition. Buckle my helmet, grab my bike, and make my way to the rest of the course—I knew what to do like a kid on Christmas. One after another, my feet followed my heart to do what I set out to do. As a wild cheetah chases its prey, I chased after my goals. Sure, the path narrowed and one tiny slip could mean the end, but I faithfully pushed on. God got me this far, He could carry me the rest of the way. Little did I know, but He would do just that.

“BEEEEPPP!” The screech of the blaring buzzer jolts my idle body. While attempting to warm myself up, I watch some racers sprint down the lengthy pool and back, and note their struggle to beat the clock. Their fingers ram into the ebony black touchpad, and their exhausted faces twist to see the blinking scoreboard embossed with time results. Watching their rosy faces and stocky movements as they climb out of the pool, my stomach churns with an uneasy mixture of butterflies and the food-I-definitely-shouldn't-have-consumed-5-minute -before-a-race.