Freshman Narrative Essay

Submitted By dancebeme
Words: 747
Pages: 3
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Panting. Breathing. Breathing harder. Maybe with a rhythm. Trees going by like a blur. Whoa. I can’t imagine anything I wouldn’t do to make this stop. I still have another mile. Running. This could be worse. Possibly. My bad luck streak began last week, when our- “We should win this. The other team isn’t that good” meet was SUPPOSED to happen and…it rained. Thus, cancelled. Nerves dwindling. Excitement, crushed. us Titans have practice instead. So instead of the meet coach has me do a little something called a tempo run. I ran 1 mile, had a minute break and ran another. But, knowing me, not even halfway through the first mile my knee starts bothering me. I’m little miss Rookie Runner, there will be some pains. No biggie. So I ignore it for the remainder of the day, and limp to the car. The next day it’s a little swollen. Oh well. The next few weeks go by approximately like this: run, ice, 4 hours of homework (I am just a puny freshman trying to adjust to high school curricula),heat, run, ice, run faster, drink water, 4 hours of homework, ice, history test, ice. I don’t know what else to do. It cramps for one run, and then I’m fine the next day. I’ve been taking ibuprofen as much as I eat mangoes (I eat A LOT of mangoes), and I have officially learned my lesson that heat can make injuries worse. I have a meet in 2 days, and I would absolutely love to be on the top of my game, or just better. Sunday and Monday go by like the past 4 have-ice, run, ibuprofen homework, run and it goes on. Its race day. The meets not cancelled. Thank god. The Scituate team arrives, everyone stretches, and we all go over the course together. I do my lucky shoe regimen; kiss my shoes before I put them on… gross I know, but everyone’s got their superstitions. Coach Z has us line up “Scituate Pembroke Scituate Pembroke” style and we all silently await the gun. Z pulls the trigger, it’s ringing piercing into my mind and eventually my pulse meets the ring. I feel so alive, a runners high, and I pound out the lap and a half around the baseball field and enter the woods. They distract me. My breath finds a rhythm; left step/inhale right step/exhale. I march to the beat of my own drum. I’m doing pretty well if I say so myself. I reach the mile mark, and all greatness comes to a screeching halt when I cramp up. This isn’t the normal one part of m stomach behind my ribs- it’s the whole right side. Now that’s a good time. I try to ignore it. I ignore it so I can now move my attention to my knee. My knee
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