Personal Narrative: My First Cross-American Race

The mantra, "breathe in your nose and out your mouth," was the only thing running through my head as I attempted to complete the last half mile of my first cross-country meet, and at least it was running. I on the other hand, was not. I had started the race completely confident in my ability to run three miles, but after a grueling two and a half laps of tripping over tree roots, splashing through mud, and struggling over an enormous hill that marked the last quarter of the lap, I was just ready to go home and take a shower. When my feet crossed onto the threshold of the track where the finish line was positioned, I observed quite a few things. One, the conspicuous red timer was flashing numbers well into the mid-forties range. Two, at least half of the buses in the parking lot seemed long gone. My third and final realization did not occur to me until after I crossed the finish line. As I came to a stop near the water cooler, it finally dawned on me that I had concluded the race in last place.

I truthfully could not fathom how this had occurred. I, who had never lost at anything, who lived for competition, who thrived on success, had lost miserably at my first ever meet. I walked onto the bus mortified and unable to meet any of my teammates' eyes all the while contemplating what it was I did wrong, or
I attempted to run longer before I stopped and began walking. I paced myself and even endeavored to keep up with some of the faster people on the team. Gradually, week after week, I could see myself progressing from a time in the mid-forties, to the low-forties, and finally into the thirties range. Between the first meet and regionals, we had about six more races, and regrettably, I came in last place in three of them. However, I refused to let my losses stand in the way of my motivation to get better. I kept training and before I knew it, it was the day of the regional