Today I sat down at my computer to try and clean up some files and reorganize my writing portfolio. During the course of this rather tedious after work activity, I stumbled upon a gem of a piece: a nonfiction story I had written for my seventh grade literature class about running. I couldn't resist posting it to the blog. Enjoy! (Please excuse the grammatical mistakes, use of passive voice, and nonsensical tense changes!!)
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The Day
I Flew
The alarm shatters the still, quiet
darkness of the early morning hours. I
turn around and look at the red glowing numbers on my digital alarm clock. The numbers 6:00 flash in
my brain, it is time. I know I have to
get up, but my body won’t respond. It is
race day. It is time to put all those
hard weeks of grueling training and conditioning to the test.
When I finally get up and start my
morning routine, I am amazed at my uncharacteristic calm. I move as if in a
dream, or under water. I eat and drink
very little that morning. My
whole family piles into the car and we leave the safety of our
neighborhood. We are the only people on
the road that early morning. The steady
hum of the purring engine is the only sound to
be heard as we push on through the side streets. I am not aware of any of this, though. I am slowly retiring into my own world, where
I am calmed and reassured. I always go
to that place
at the deepest part of my brain where I can be safe. The place never visited by any other human
being but me. That place is mine and
mine alone.
My peaceful calm is shattered by the
sudden jarring of the car. We are
here. In my stomach I feel a million
butterflies burst out of their cocoons and flutter out into their new world. By the time we are arrive at the start of the
race, most of the runners have already lined up. I take my place at the back and begin
stretching. I look to the left and see
my dad, who gives me a thumbs
up sign. My mom waves, as does my
sister. My brother grins. I face forward and wait for the sound of the
starting pistol. The gun sounds, and the
long, winding line of runners slowly commences.
The first part of the race was up a
gently sloped street. I stay toward the
back of the pack. As I climb up the
sloped street, I feel my calf muscles contract as the weight of my body falls down
upon them. The muscles relax when I lift
my foot. Contract, relax, contract,
relax, contract. I fall into a rhythm
with each breath and step I take. Off in
the distance I hear music blaring and people chattering. I block out all of these distractions, and
try to make mind and body become one. It
works, and before I know it, I have passed the people I have been keeping
pace with. After a while, my muscles
begin to burn, and I could now taste the salty droplets of sweat that were once
balanced perilously on my upper lip. I’m
now half way through my
race and every part of my body was covered with droplets of sweat. Every appendage; arms, legs, fingers, toes,
and feet hurt. They command me to stop,
but my determination is as strong as ever!
I push on and on, up hills and down them. My body grows weaker, my mind stronger. I’m coming down the home stretch; I’ve fixed
on a target, the FINISH LINE. The only thing
that stands between me and my goal is a short, stocky boy. I size him up and decide I can’t let him beat
me, I have to finish strong. All of a
sudden, my legs give a jar, and I begin to fly faster
and faster. Like an eagle swooping in
for the kill. My heart, already beating
hard, feels as though it will burst through my chest. My legs, oh my burning legs, they demand me
to stop, they beg me to stop, but my
brain says run, run like the wind and don’t stop until you reach what
you’ve been striving for. Don’t stop,
not now when you’re so close, don’t stop, just a few more steps. I’m so close!
I’ve passed the boy, legs don’t fail
me now! One, two strides, I’m almost
there. One more big step. . . .I did
it! I’ve crossed the FINISH LINE, just
as my engine dies out. My aching muscles
stop burning and salute me. For the
first time, I notice that a beautiful day it is. I can feel the sunshine warm my sweat
drenched face. The butterflies that were
once in my stomach are
now out in the glorious daytime. The
only remnants of my grueling test of mind over matter is the satisfying taste
of the slowly drying perspiration that covers my body, and the big smile
that’s plastered across my face. With a
final glance behind me, I walk off to go watch the start of the 10k my dad was
running. Someday I thought, I’d run a 10
kilometer race with him. I’ll never
forget, though, the day I flew.
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