Dunkin Donuts Narrative
It is a cool, crisp fall morning in October. It is early, as my coach always wants to arrive at our cross country meets first. He seems to think there's a direct link to when you get to the meet and where your team places. In my opinion, the only direct link is between the earlier we have to get up and the size of the coffee we each get at Dunkin Donuts. My teammates, excited about the day ahead of them, feverishly exchange “Secret buddy” gifts, and pass around the purple war paint, ready to face the day ahead.
All I see and smell is the torn-up mud and grass beneath me, all I hear is the thunderous pound of hundreds of feet, each wearing 6 small spikes, making contact with the narrow path on either side of my body. Somehow every runner
managed to avoid me, and to stay on the path so they weren't disqualified ---well, almost all ----. All I felt was the tearing of skin, which left three ⅜ inch gashes across my calves and thighs. Blood is running down my legs, I’ve lost the place I needed to be in the pack, and I am ready to quit. I look up and there is a girl in a yellow uniform, from Nova Scotia I believe, asking me If i’m okay, trying to help me up. “Get up, you are strong, you can push through it,” I vividly remember her saying. And I listened. I stood up and I started running. I had one mile to go and my team needed me. It felt as If I was running faster than the blood down my shin. Every girl I caught up to and passed I told the same thing “You are strong, you can push through it.” I hope that helped them to finish the race, it certainly helped me to push up the final hill. The huge crowd roars as the runners top the hill and use every ounce of energy they have left to step over the finish line. When I crossed that finish line, at the 2016 Festival of Champions, I only had one thing on my mind.
All I see and smell is the torn-up mud and grass beneath me, all I hear is the thunderous pound of hundreds of feet, each wearing 6 small spikes, making contact with the narrow path on either side of my body. Somehow every runner
managed to avoid me, and to stay on the path so they weren't disqualified ---well, almost all ----. All I felt was the tearing of skin, which left three ⅜ inch gashes across my calves and thighs. Blood is running down my legs, I’ve lost the place I needed to be in the pack, and I am ready to quit. I look up and there is a girl in a yellow uniform, from Nova Scotia I believe, asking me If i’m okay, trying to help me up. “Get up, you are strong, you can push through it,” I vividly remember her saying. And I listened. I stood up and I started running. I had one mile to go and my team needed me. It felt as If I was running faster than the blood down my shin. Every girl I caught up to and passed I told the same thing “You are strong, you can push through it.” I hope that helped them to finish the race, it certainly helped me to push up the final hill. The huge crowd roars as the runners top the hill and use every ounce of energy they have left to step over the finish line. When I crossed that finish line, at the 2016 Festival of Champions, I only had one thing on my mind.