A Race to Remember

By Lauren Ouyang (Grade 7)

As I started my last lap, I felt my breaths getting shakier. My arms grew tired and my mouth went dry, but seeing the finish line out of the corner of my eye gave me the boost of energy I was missing. My lungs strained as the ground blurred underneath me. I was safely in the 4th place, enough to gain a point for my team. Or so I thought. With 200 meters left, I heard footsteps accelerating behind me. With every ounce of energy I had left, I sped up. The other girl and I were neck and neck as the noise from the crowd overwhelmed all my senses. The only thing I could hear was the pounding of our footsteps.

Breathe in and out. In and out.

When I started my last lap, everything in me wanted to stop and walk off of the field. It would be simple, easy, and I would finally be able to catch my breath. However, a voice in my head urged me to lengthen my strides, telling me to finish just as strong as I had started. As I got closer and closer to the finish line, I was consumed with the knowledge that my struggle would be over soon. I had run this race many times before, and I knew the pain would be over quicker if I ran to the best of my abilities.

As it came down to the final stretch of the race, I reminded myself of whom I was doing this for. Not only was I doing it for my teammates, but also for myself. I was doing it for the 8-year-old me, who dreamed of being the fastest. Adrenaline coursed through my veins as my calves burned. For the 11-year-old me, who was disappointed at her times. My mind was racing faster than my steps. For the present time me, who trained endlessly to fulfill her childhood dream. My heartbeat pounded furiously in my ears as I recollected all my past experiences. 

Breathe in and out. In and out.

Like many athletes, I’ve experienced the ups and downs of track. Ever since I was little, I wanted to step onto a track field and look up at the stadiums filled with people. In the 3rd grade, finishing in the top 3 was expected of me. When I started running in the 6th grade, however, I thought my childhood dream was over as running stopped being as natural to me and I struggled to maintain a positive mindset. Everytime I compared my times to those around me, I felt like giving up. However, I found the strength to continue. When I joined track in the 7th grade, I wasn’t sure if I’d be able to keep up with my peers. However, after training endlessly before, during, and after practices, I managed to reduce my mile time by 3 minutes, a 50% improvement in speed! I’ve learned from track to compare myself to who I was yesterday, instead of who someone else is today.

I felt my steps become sluggish, but the blurred faces of my teammates cheering me on was like a voice pressing me to finish the race. I could see my opponent’s bright blue headband out of the corner of my eye as sweat trickled down my forehead, but I knew I couldn’t stop. Despite how much my body resisted, I was reminded of my coaches and how I needed to secure a 4th place finish for my team. Steps became dashes of energy as I quickened my pace. I knew I could not lose this race.

Breathe in and out. In and out.

Others may call running a solo sport, but throughout my years on the track field, running was about those who pushed me to do my best. It was about my coaches, who reminded me that it doesn’t matter who starts first: it’s about who finishes first. The coaches who taught me how to swing my arms and how to kick my legs, who pushed me through every lap. My teammates, who encouraged me from the sidelines, and stayed with me until I crossed the finish line. The same teammates with whom I formed deep bonds, who maintained a positive attitude whether or not they were on the track field. Running was also about my opponents, who, despite being on opposite teams, ran on the same field as me and pushed me until the end. 

As my last leg crossed the bold white line marking the finish line, I collapsed onto my knees, suddenly becoming aware of the thick layer of sweat gathered on the nape of my neck. The announcer yelled out my time, and my brief moment of utter exhaustion was replaced with the feeling of victory. My team and I would be going to the finals.