The Day of Cross Country
All around me, the other runners crouched forward like really good runners waiting to be released. My legs trembled, from the cold morning breeze, and the from nerves. Then I hear a sound it was
“Go!”
The field erupted into chaos. Bare feet pounded the grass, arms pumped furiously, and within seconds I was swallowed into runners. The first stretch felt easy, my feet bouncing off the ground like springs. But as soon as we hit the hill, reality kicked in. My lungs burned, my throat felt dry, and my legs turned heavy, as though someone had tied weights to them.
As I came up the top of the hill I could hear the crowd up ahead—parents, teachers, friends—shouting names, cheering. Their voices mixed into a blur, but it was enough to push me forward. A girl beside me slowed to a walk, I clenched my fists and kept running. “Just to the 2 more laps to go ,” I told myself. Then, “Just to the corner.” Breaking the race into tiny goals was the only way I could keep going.
As we rounded the final hill, the finish line came into sight. My body screamed at me to stop, but my mind shouted louder: Don’t quit now. I found one last burst of energy, sprinting with everything I had left. The world around me blurred. I crossed the line, chest heaving, sweat dripping, but with a smile stretching across my face.
I hadn’t come first, or even close—but I had finished 8th but at least I did my best. And in that moment, that felt like victory.