Personal Narrative - Race :: Personal Narrative Essays

Personal Narrative- Race Wait. Be still. Don't go over the line. Don't let go. Wait for it. "BANG!" My reactions were precise as I sprung out of the blocks. The sun was beating down on my back as my feet clawed at the blistering, red turf. With every step I took, my toes sunk into the squishy, foul smelling surface, as my lungs grasped for air. Everything felt the way it should as I plunged toward my destination. I clutched the baton in my sweaty palms, promising myself not to let go. My long legs moved me as fast as I could go as I hugged the corner of the line like a little girl hugging her favorite teddy bear. The steps were just like I had practiced. As I came closer to my final steps, my stomach started twisting and my heart beat began to rise. The different colors of arrows started to pass under my feet, and I knew it was time. "Reach," I yelled to Susan, whom had seemed unusually far away. Yelling, "Slow down, slow down," turned into "Stop!" Susan halted to a stop as the gold baton fell into her hands and she took off into a dead sprint. The devil colored flag rose. We were disqualified from something that we all dreaded; going out of the exchange zone. I had never really been a part of a team that had a chance to win something, but the potential was always there. I finally got my chance to be a part of such a team my sophomore year of track. Mr. Jones, the head track coach, had decided to experiment with some different races to gain more team points. Since the girls' team lacked a medley relay, he placed Cindy, Kim, Susan and I in those spots. Cindy would run the 400, Kim would run the 200, and Susan and I would start the race off by each running the 100. We all had worked viciously to earn those spots by running off against our teammates. Going into the first race we had not expected much since Susan and I had never run this type of race. There were so many crucial things that we had to remember. It wasn't just to get out of the blocks and burn up the track; there was a baton involved, a certain amount of steps to take, and even a certain way to hold the baton.