The Race

Beating a record

Beating a Record

Heart clattering, breath sharp and heavy, skin moist with perspiration, lips parted in a breathtaking smile, eyes streaming, ponytailed black hair billowing like a flag, feet effortlessly pushing ever faster.

I ran with an awing strength that was graceful and swift, but fierce and unyielding. My piercing blue eyes watered with the demanding strength my run required, spilling a liquid down my cheeks that was soon whipped away in the wind. Still I pushed faster, harder, stronger.

My tight fitting, knee length running pants and sports bra help me move as fast as I do, instead of weighing me down the way clothes usually do. I put on my final burst of speed, shooting forward once more, reaching the end of the track and whipping back the way I came with lightning fast familiarity.

Finally I make it back to my coach, falling onto the freshly mown grass of the running track and breathing heavily, closing my dry eyes and allowing them to moisten themselves for a moment.

Something swings past my head and I open my eyes to see a black water bottle, cool condensation dribbling down the sides, laying in the grass close to me. I let out an approving pant, weakly reaching for the bottle. The cold of the water inside is refreshing against my sweating palm as it seeps through the bottle, and I twist the top off eagerly.

In two swigs I polish off the bottle, my panting slowing a little and my parched throat momentarily soothed.

"You're holding back on me Cami. Only one bottle?" I grin at my coach. Cami is a fit, pretty, middle aged woman with crows feet around her eyes from smiling so much and bulging muscles as a result of being a fitness instructor. She has auburn hair that she always wears in a thick French braid over her shoulder, and brown eyes that match the freckles covering her face and arms.

She gives me a half smirk, putting her hands on her hips. "If you didn't chug it back like there's no tomorrow then it wouldn't seem like I was holding back. That was a big water bottle." She says defensively, taking the empty water bottle from me. Cami, also known as Camille, is like a mother to me. She has been helping me be the best I can be since I was seven; ten years ago, when I first showed an interest and talent in sprinting.

"And that was seven rounds of a 100 meter race while being timed." I argue, giving her a pointed look before leaning my arms out behind me and letting my eyes flutter closed, basking in the warmth of the hot day. I pretend to be completely unaware of Cami, suntanning.

Suddenly something cold and wet plunks into my lap, and I hear Cami walking away. I peek open one eye to see Cami retreating to the bleachers, preparing to time me while sprinting some more. I look down to see another identical black water bottle in my lap, condensation wetting my black pants.

"Thanks Cami, now it looks like I have bladder issues." I call to her, hauling back the water bottle and tossing it beside the cooler filled with full ones before standing up and brushing any lingering blades of grass from my pants.

"You should thank me," Cami calls back, looking down at her clipboard and scribbling my most recent time on it. "I gave you something to blame it on."

I roll my eyes with a smile, stepping up to the starting line and leaning forward in a warrior pose stretch, re-warming my hamstrings and calfs. I stretch one arm across my chest, using the other to hold it in place, and after 15 seconds I switch arms. I pull up my right leg, doing my personal favorite stretch that I mastered when I was 13. I stretch my leg up until my knee is pressed against my ear and my leg is in a perfectly straight line up.

"Show off." Cami mutters. I grin and switch legs, holding this position for 10 seconds. When I am finished I roll my shoulders and ankles, and jump around from foot to foot a couple times, shaking myself out.

"Now remember, don't push yourself too hard. A runner can only maintain their highest speed for 30-35 seconds throughout their run because of lactic acid in your muscles. If you get sudden bursts of energy that's fine; great even, just don't be disappointed if it doesn't last for long. Push yourself, don't break yourself." Cami tells me. It's a familiar speech; she tells the same one each time before I run.

"You're doing good kiddo. If you can keep up the speed on these next three then you will have beaten your personal record." She says with pride in her voice. I grin, leaning into my crouching position, ready to take off.

"On the whistle," Cami calls, holding her whistle to her lips and watching her stop watch closely.

I count down in my head.

15, 14, 13...

I look forward, focusing my gaze on the end of the track, readying myself.

10, 9, 8...

'You can do it.' I tell myself. 'Just make if there 4 seconds faster...'

5, 4, 3...

I love running more than anything else. It is the only thing I have. Why not do your absolute best at the thing you love most?

The sharp shriek of a whistle pierces the air, and I launch myself forward with exhilarating speed.