Can someone read my essay? And correct it for grammar and punctuation?
I take three puffs of my inhaler thirty minutes before the race like I do at every meet. Kids from the other schools see me taking my medicine and laugh-they don't think a runner with asthma can win a race with them, but I accept their challenge.
At the starting line at the race everything seems so surreal; the hundreds of people watching, my teammates cheering, and me in my ridiculous pelvis high, cherry red track shorts. I pretend it's a fighting movie-- when the boxer enters the ring for the first time, and he looks around to see the crowd yelling in slow motion. No sound from the cheers though, it's replaced by the fast thumping of his beating heart.
Then the gun goes off and my feet start to move. Right now I guess the usual analogy would be to say that I sprinted off like a cheetah, but a cheetah struggling in a race is just ridiculous. And so many things run through my mind, during the first few seconds, like is my form okay? Did I take my inhaler the right way? Was my start off bad? Perhaps this race is another failure in which I gain nothing for myself.
Halfway done and I think I'm leading. I hear another sprinter's footsteps close in on me. I see my coach cheering but I block out his voice. I'm too busy listening to the sound of my own. I can hear it wheezing, and burning. But my mind goes off to distant lands. I'm a soldier in Normandy during World War 2, I'm running through gunfire. Next I'm a childhood videogame hero; either a cop or a knight. And I'm chasing down some villain; responsible for the deaths of thousands. When I'm thinking of those things, it makes running fun, heroic even. If I can't be as strong and brave as a soldier I can at least be a good athlete.
And while I'm thinking of those fantastic childhood stories I've already crossed the finish line. I come first, surprising myself. Sweat floods down my red face but I'm not tired, I've ran races before. First, second or even dead last it doesn't matter. The challenge, the nervousness, the childhood memories, I experience it all, all the time. For it is the way that I have raced every race.
I take three puffs of my inhaler thirty minutes before the race like I do at every meet. Kids from the other schools see me taking my medicine and laugh-they don't think a runner with asthma can win a race with them, but I accept their challenge.
At the starting line at the race everything seems so surreal; the hundreds of people watching, my teammates cheering, and me in my ridiculous pelvis high, cherry red track shorts. I pretend it's a fighting movie-- when the boxer enters the ring for the first time, and he looks around to see the crowd yelling in slow motion. No sound from the cheers though, it's replaced by the fast thumping of his beating heart.
Then the gun goes off and my feet start to move. Right now I guess the usual analogy would be to say that I sprinted off like a cheetah, but a cheetah struggling in a race is just ridiculous. And so many things run through my mind, during the first few seconds, like is my form okay? Did I take my inhaler the right way? Was my start off bad? Perhaps this race is another failure in which I gain nothing for myself.
Halfway done and I think I'm leading. I hear another sprinter's footsteps close in on me. I see my coach cheering but I block out his voice. I'm too busy listening to the sound of my own. I can hear it wheezing, and burning. But my mind goes off to distant lands. I'm a soldier in Normandy during World War 2, I'm running through gunfire. Next I'm a childhood videogame hero; either a cop or a knight. And I'm chasing down some villain; responsible for the deaths of thousands. When I'm thinking of those things, it makes running fun, heroic even. If I can't be as strong and brave as a soldier I can at least be a good athlete.
And while I'm thinking of those fantastic childhood stories I've already crossed the finish line. I come first, surprising myself. Sweat floods down my red face but I'm not tired, I've ran races before. First, second or even dead last it doesn't matter. The challenge, the nervousness, the childhood memories, I experience it all, all the time. For it is the way that I have raced every race.
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