Race Time

For months you have been preparing for one day, one race, one moment, to prove yourself to the world. You have spent countless hours preparing; sprinting, jogging, striding, stretching, and just running. All to ready yourself for seventeen minutes of exhaustion. Race day arrives. You walk the course, studying every crook, bend, and gully. You visualize until you have every stride memorized. The team gathers and moves off in a pack. Hundreds of stone faces criss cross the grounds like soldiers preparing for battle. Suddenly, they converge onto one spot. Adrenaline courses through every vein in your body; you wonder if you are ready. Teams yell out their battle cries and then it begins. The shot is fired and you are off. Legs and arms flail around you in an earthquake of motion. Soon you are squeezed through a tight gap and the pack is formed. The train of men wrap around the course devouring the landscape. The steam engine is heard as the breathing picks up. Before you know it a mile has gone by, and you’re on the hills. You want nothing more but to fly up the knoll; you know you can do it. But you wait. Not yet. Your eyes lock onto the head in front of you and trek on. Soon you are flying down the hill, your legs are pendulums, swinging rapidly back and forth beneath you. Up ahead is yet another hill. You push up, this time giving it a little more gas. Off the course you hear a voice, calling out your name. You can't look. You push on, despite the pain. Coming down the hill is a welcomed break, you fly by a few, and try to break them. Your breathing is now raspy, a fierce sign of endurance. One more hill. This one really burns. Your legs turn to rubber and you wonder if you can make it. Why not walk? It would be so easy... NO! You shake it off and lock your eyes on the dirt once again. Somewhere in the distance you here cheering; the leaders have reached the last 800. Why aren't you there? You're not sure. You start to pound harder, despite the pain. Coming down the hill faces fly by, left and right. Your name is called once again, still you don't look. The stadium is now visible, a surge of determination flows from your heart down to your toes. You start to pick it up even more, more, more. Cheers grow louder as you enter the track. The finish! The desire to win, break, and kill throttles you forward. You pass by wheezing boys, their faces broken. The last fifty approaches and you can go no faster. The finish line is there, a symbol of sweet salvation. The clock above ticks its final seconds. Wait. What does it say? No. Couldn't be. You slow and stare in disbelief. Just as you stumble across the line you are passed by a flash of orange. Anger and disappointment replaces the glory. You hang your head and slowly proceed down the chute. You aren't even breathing hard. You aren't even breathing hard. Your name is called by a spectator, but you can't look. This time it isn't the focus that stops you, its shame. Crossing the field you ask why. Why didn't you run hard? Why didn't you realize? All the work... All the pain... For this? You fall to the ground, holding back the tears. But the dam breaks. It is all coming out. Why didn't you run? Teammates approach, wondering what you have done. You can't explain. You never want to feel like this again. The anger turns back to determination. You never want to feel like this again. You crave redemption, it fills your weary body and mind. Next year. Next year you will do it. You take a moment and breathe. Why are you upset? You just ran in a national race. You are surrounded by the most amazing teammates in the entire race. You are having the time of your life with your best friends. Don't be sad. Don't be angry. Turn your feelings into motivation, and pick yourself up. The battle is over.