Ready, Set, Go

Ready, Set, Go!

Those were the words that started everything for me when I was little. They gave us a bib with our own individual numbers. We hooked them onto our jerseys, carelessly stabbing our fingers with safety pens. The pain only lasted a moment.

The nervous aches of our little stomachs as the butterflies flew and bounced around inside us. Some kids threw up and felt sick through their whole core. The feeling only lasted a moment.

Watching the other kids race and wondering if you are as fast as they are. Seeing their times and doubting every little thing. Your parents not being in the stands because of work, so all you see is your older brother eating nachos and grinning at you. The bitterness only lasted a moment.

Your coach telling you to line up, because you are about to be up. You are put into a small area full of other people your age and the warmth of everyone else fills up the small space, making you want to fall asleep or have a heat stroke. The heat only lasted a moment.

You and your fellow racers are like cows, being lined up ready for slaughter. This race will determine if you live or not. The fear only lasted a moment

You are put into your marks; number 4. The man with a friendly face waits for us to get into positions. When we are all ready he says ready, set-

A gun goes off, splitting my ears in two. I am not a little kid anymore. It´s not just ready, set, go. There is no smiling man. It´s a man that doesn't want to be there and he just hopes that the gun will work and not fail like every other time.

The pain doesn't end. The training and strenuous hours of work lead to cramping every night, but every morning I will wake up and do it all over again.

I see my parents less and less. I don´t even see my brother anymore, for he is married and has 2 smiling little kids and a beautiful wife. The stands are filled with no one, so the bitterness is always.

I am more nervous than ever and have joined the kids that throw up before a race starts. No one holds my hair back. The fear seems to never go away.

They line us up and put us in front of our marks; number 1. I get down into position when the sullen man says ready. I raise myself when the sullen man says set. I wait for the gun to go off and hope that it never does, but the gun goes off a millisecond after my thoughts and I start to run.

My legs turning swiftly with every stride and I can sense the pain in my ankle start to arise. Every step makes my ankle burn and I can feel it about to roll, but I have to keep going. I straighten my stride and adjust my feet so I can get a longer and rapid stride.

I realize that I had started off too fast and my engine was going dry. My legs wobbling as I turn the second turn. I want to look at my legs and make sure that they hadn't turned into a liquid. Only two more turns left.

The other racers behind me are starting to close the gap. My legs slowing down a little bit at a time. The racer in lane three is about to pass me. Only one more turn left.

The runner in lane three is in sync with my stride and then passes me with ease. Were on the straightaway and the butterflies in my stomach have turned into frenzied wasps. My ankle pain is now on fire and not just a small flame. My throat is dry and my spit is not but a mound of salt to make me more thirsty.

The world stops for a second and I can hear the screams of proud mothers and fathers cheering their kids on. If I don´t win, I have nothing to come back from. All I can do is train more and more and more. I. Must. Win.

I just swing my legs over and over again, catching up to lane 3. We are next to each other, in sync again. But I will not just be in sync, I will be faster. My legs aren't touching the track and I am flying towards the finish line. I run past the finish line ahead of lane 3 by one step.

I fall into the grass and smile. The wasps have turned into fluffy caterpillars. The pain in my ankle is still there but I don´t care anymore.

My coach walks up to me with a huge grin, almost like my brothers. He tells me that I had beaten my personal record. I look at the scores and see the number 1:00:07.

I had done it.

I had won.