Race

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     I pumped my legs harder and faster down the track, my opposing racers gaining on me. The finish line was in sight, so I drove with the last of my exuberance. I had earned third in my 100m race, so I had to get first in this 200m to make my coach proud. I sped past the finish line, wheezing for air with my hands on my knees, and chose to cheer on the remainder of the racers.

     Clapping and enrapturing, I scrutinized into the stands for a familiar face, someone to convey my victory. That's when I noticed him. He was seated on the top of the stands, the very corner to the left of the way I was facing. He was standing, a smile on his face as he clapped and hollered. I had no idea everyone was cheering so much and rather loudly!

     Later, I sat on the elevation by the locker room to observe the remains of the trials, chugging my water to alleviate my sore throat. Jogging down the hill to meet my family, the ocean of people streaming to meet their kids and attempting to get out stemmed me temporarily. Once in the car, my mother showed me a video she had recorded of my winning race, the sound of the cheers bitterly loud. I couldn't hear the merriments or chants, only the blood pumping through my veins and the optimistic cheers from his mouth.

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