My legs are burning, and my arms are going numb. There are two competitors ahead of me and there is only a half mile to go. I have to pass them; I must push myself. My tread intensifies, while my steps elongate. Only a quarter of a mile left, there isn't much time. I see the finish line. The pain stops and victory begins in one hundred meters. My heart is thumping while I gasp for breath. My mind, body, and soul are stronger because of the commitment I put into cross country. I have become a more successful person.
Cross Country changed the way I live my life. I never expected to join the cross country team. I only joined the team off a whim. On the first day of practice, I felt threatened because I lacked running experience. The idea of how tough this sport is frightened me. I figured that I should not be intimidated by the seasoned runners and I should stick it out. Day after day, the workouts tried to break my spirit but I never let them. The practices were not what mattered, it was the races. Every race I feel a rush of adrenaline that nothing else in the world could match. Cross country is my affection; it is the way I escape reality. When I put on my uniform and begin the race, all my daily struggles melt away.
On one of my regular two-hour grueling practices, I had plenty of time to think. I decided to give myself some lavish goals to break. My most important goal was to break sixteen minutes in a three-mile race. At the time, I was running on average eighteen minutes. To me, it felt like breakneck speeds. Sixteen minutes is such a brisk pace it sounded impossible.
My strong work ethic and determination allowed me to race in my first varsity meet. My first varsity race, at the Woodbridge Invitational, was very nerve racking. Luckily my other six varsity teammates kept my spirits high before the race. They kept telling me how a varsity race was no different than any other race. We stepped onto the chalk line as the sun just struck above our heads. The gun went off, and all the runners swept off the starting line. I forced myself to compete among the other runners. "This is it," I thought to myself, "I am going to break sixteen minutes this race."
Alas, it was not to be. I finished almost a minute slower than sixteen minutes. My failed attempt at achieving my goal brought sorrow to my soul. My heart was sore from disappointment. I knew in my mind I could break my goal, but I required more experience. Every I forced every ounce of my strength went into my workouts.
At my second meet at Seaside Invitational, I lowered my expectations for the race. In that case, I would not be as disappointed in myself. At the crack of the gun, the crowd begins to roar. There was something unusual about this race. I was toward the front of the pack. My body was not in the constant ache I had become accustomed to. My body was telling me, "I must not be pushing myself, I want to go faster." My pace quickened and my strides lengthen. The miles ran, the hundreds of dollars spent on running shoes, the months of work and practice, this was my time to shine.
As I cross the finish line I glance at the clock. It reads "15:58". I nearly trip over my feet from excitement as I walk to the scoreboard to confirm my time. Once again the electronic scoreboard read "15:58." I fall to my knees in both exhaustion and gratitude, and I laid there in the dewy grass for at least 10 minutes. I jump to my feet in excitement and race back to my team's tent.
If I did not take a chance and join the cross country team, I would not be the successful person I am today. I still get butterflies in my stomach knowing disappointment is possible, but the memories of my achievements edge out the tension. I take my stance, ready to jump off the starting line, and the starting gun fires.
Cross Country changed the way I live my life. I never expected to join the cross country team. I only joined the team off a whim. On the first day of practice, I felt threatened because I lacked running experience. The idea of how tough this sport is frightened me. I figured that I should not be intimidated by the seasoned runners and I should stick it out. Day after day, the workouts tried to break my spirit but I never let them. The practices were not what mattered, it was the races. Every race I feel a rush of adrenaline that nothing else in the world could match. Cross country is my affection; it is the way I escape reality. When I put on my uniform and begin the race, all my daily struggles melt away.
On one of my regular two-hour grueling practices, I had plenty of time to think. I decided to give myself some lavish goals to break. My most important goal was to break sixteen minutes in a three-mile race. At the time, I was running on average eighteen minutes. To me, it felt like breakneck speeds. Sixteen minutes is such a brisk pace it sounded impossible.
My strong work ethic and determination allowed me to race in my first varsity meet. My first varsity race, at the Woodbridge Invitational, was very nerve racking. Luckily my other six varsity teammates kept my spirits high before the race. They kept telling me how a varsity race was no different than any other race. We stepped onto the chalk line as the sun just struck above our heads. The gun went off, and all the runners swept off the starting line. I forced myself to compete among the other runners. "This is it," I thought to myself, "I am going to break sixteen minutes this race."
Alas, it was not to be. I finished almost a minute slower than sixteen minutes. My failed attempt at achieving my goal brought sorrow to my soul. My heart was sore from disappointment. I knew in my mind I could break my goal, but I required more experience. Every I forced every ounce of my strength went into my workouts.
At my second meet at Seaside Invitational, I lowered my expectations for the race. In that case, I would not be as disappointed in myself. At the crack of the gun, the crowd begins to roar. There was something unusual about this race. I was toward the front of the pack. My body was not in the constant ache I had become accustomed to. My body was telling me, "I must not be pushing myself, I want to go faster." My pace quickened and my strides lengthen. The miles ran, the hundreds of dollars spent on running shoes, the months of work and practice, this was my time to shine.
As I cross the finish line I glance at the clock. It reads "15:58". I nearly trip over my feet from excitement as I walk to the scoreboard to confirm my time. Once again the electronic scoreboard read "15:58." I fall to my knees in both exhaustion and gratitude, and I laid there in the dewy grass for at least 10 minutes. I jump to my feet in excitement and race back to my team's tent.
If I did not take a chance and join the cross country team, I would not be the successful person I am today. I still get butterflies in my stomach knowing disappointment is possible, but the memories of my achievements edge out the tension. I take my stance, ready to jump off the starting line, and the starting gun fires.
