Haiden Bowman
Mr. Neuberger
ENG 101-101
25 February 2013
Better Than Gold
I hear a gun shot, and I begin to run as fast as I can away from the man who fired it. I’m tripping over myself. I can’t catch my breath. “Don’t look back,” I say to myself. My tightened legs are going out from under me, and my first thought is—someone is going to catch me.
Approaching the starting line is where it all begins. I gather around in the freezing bleachers with my team and wait for the person in charge to tell me which lane I will be competing in. I get my placement, and my team splits to four different corners of the track.
I hesitantly hustle to the starting line and position my blocks. Are they too steep? Are they set just right? Am I ready?
Before I know it, one hand is up, and the bang of the gun awakens me. I take a powerful lead. My sharp track spikes bite into the track and I’m gone. The wind is thrashing me in the face, my nose takes in a whiff of the smell of fresh cut grass and the stadium roaring with support fills my ears.
Adrenaline is rushing throughout my whole body even though I’m numb and can’t feel a thing. First hand off is coming up. Don’t drop the baton. One smooth handoff and I’m left in my lane encouraging my team.
I stand slouched over watching athletes sprint by blowing snot bubbles and making questionable faces. The worst noise I could hear at this moment would be the clank, clink, tink of a bright baton bouncing away. To hear clanking, clinking and tinking is like hearing nails on a chalkboard. Ironically, the sound of a clink, clank and many sighs make me cringe. I look up and hope it’s not my team. At that very second lane one gets disqualified for dropping their baton.
I stare at my team’s handoffs. Our angry anchor takes the baton and dashes for the finish line. All in sight is gold, and it’s waiting at the finish line. I hear my coaches in the back of my head, “Get your knees up! Come on! Finish through!”
My entire team is thriving for success. We’re hungry for the gold, not the silver or bronze. I’m waiting for the competition to end and I realize my legs, butt, and arms are cramping yet I’m still sprinting to meet my team at the finish line.
The race comes to an end and athletes right and left are either doubled over, chugging water or gasping for air. I’m thinking of juicy barbequed hamburgers waiting for me at the concession stand when my coach walks up. He asks, “How did you ladies do?” A moment of awkward silence fills the air.
My team did great! I beat my personal record by a second and a half, but we got silver. I begin to relay the results to my coach who seems beyond impressed. The feeling of success, accomplishment and love fills my soul. I love running and would do anything to race again.
Track season is the one time of year people see athletes running around the track, time after time, just to beat their personal records. I don’t have water bottles. I have a rusty, retired, red water spigot to run to. The track is where teamwork is practiced.
Teamwork is the feeling of love and understanding even though things don’t always turn out right. Friendship keeps a team together. It’s a good feeling. Every year I know track and field begins with the national anthem and a gun shot. It will always end with a smile shining success even when I don’t get the gold.
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