Personal Narrative: My First Race

I changed my mind about running the day my father made me run my first race. It was a hot summer day, and I was inside watching television with my siblings when my dad asked us if we all wanted to run a race with him. At first, I wasn't too sure about it even though he said it was only a one mile race. But, in school, we already had to run a mile in gym, and I wasn't very good. All of my siblings said "yes" to it, so I had to also. I had no other choice. So, after a few days of doing nothing about the race, my dad asked me if I would go on a run with him to get ready for it. I didn't have much of a choice. The way he said it was with a "do it now" kind of voice, so we ran about a half mile. By the time we got back, I was out of breath
When we finally ran a full mile, it was almost a walking pace. So, we ran shorter distances, but ran them fast, a little faster than we ran the half mile, until I could hold that pace for a full mile. After a month of doing that, it was race day. The weird thing was that there also was another race going on at the same time and on the same course. The only difference was that the race that we were running was a mile run and the other was a 5K, or 5 thousand meters. My dad asked the officials when the mile runners were to turn around, but the official just said, “Just watch the course and you’ll be fine, you’ll know when to turn around.” The official wasn't much help, and after about five minutes we went to go get our numbers and tags for the race. My number was 145 and in big blue numbers. Then we went to the starting line. The mile run and 5K runners were both lined up in one massive hoard, all trying to get to the front, so they would have the best start. I tried to be in front of my family because I was the fastest. My brothers, Zach and Alex, were by my dad. He had told me during my warm ups not to start out too fast, and that I still had to get home in one
The girl who had said she was going to keep up with me said that I wasn't running the mile anymore, and that I had run half of the 5K and was doing quite well. Now, all I had to do was make it back. I was exhausted. I felt like I had just run a mile and a half which I had! However, the run back wasn't as hard, nor did it seem as long. Before I knew it, the girl was sprinting, and I could see the finish line. She yelled back, “Hurry up kid!” and that’s what I did. The last 50 yards was the two of us busting our butts trying to finish first. She beat me, of course, and she asked me if that was my first race. I told her it was, and she shook my hand saying good job. When she left to join her family, my dad walked up with my brother Alex, who had also run the mile (except he only ran a mile, not the 5K like me.) My dad told me that Zach was still out running the 5K, too. He said he was proud of me for running the