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This week’s prompt: Sports: Write about one of your best sports moments.
It starts when there’s a gunshot and you move your legs in a fast motion to get ahead of the crowd and to get a good position. You know this course inside and out. You know what will lie ahead but you know the ultimate challenge will be your mind. So you drive your legs and pump your arms with all that you have. You know how badly you want it. You push up those hills even though they hurt, and you try ever so harder down those hills, ‘cause you know that the downhill is not a break, but an opportunity to go faster.
So there you are breathing hard, feeling all of your muscles exhausted but yet the worse part is about to come. It’s when your mind takes over. Your mind tells you to slow down, your mind tells you to stop, it gives you these funny ideas that it is okay to give up when in reality that it is not okay. It is not all right.
You tell yourself, “I am not giving up, I have worked too hard to give up. I will not give up!”
You have earned this physical pain. The pain in your lungs, your arms, your legs. You know that this is what it will take to satisfy you at the end. So you enjoy the lovely pain. So you push with the pain, up and down the trails, hoping your lead will be enough. Hoping you will succeed to the goal you have had since the start.
You eventually see it and you know that this is what you have been waiting for. You turn up the heat, and you give everything left that you have. Then you are there. All of the pain is now subsiding as you lay down, gasping for air. There is a happiness in your heart because you did it. You overcame your pain, you overcame the mind that tried to cause failure to your goal. You laughed at both of them and said to yourself, “I told you that it would be worth it!”
Read the full story at youngwritersproject.org/node/10534
Less than a month remains of the cross country season. That means less than a month left of my high school cross country career.
For six years now, I have spent the fall season running. I began this journey in seventh grade and will finish it as a senior, having put more time and energy into the sport than seems reasonable.
Though I have countless moments set in my mind, I still count my very first day as my dearest memory of cross country.
It was the first day of middle school and of course, everything had been alien to me. Like everyone else entering a new school, I was terrified and excited in equal measure.
But I don’t take change well, and by 2:25 I was shaken. I had made no new friends and was more than a little worried about doing well in school. The last thing I wanted to do was stay in this strange new world, let alone run with a bunch of strangers. Early that day, I had tried desperately to join the team, forcing myself to brave the guidance office and sign up. Having spent the summer running around my little town, I figured this ‘cross country’ might be fun. Now, after a long and confusing day, I had not been so sure.
In my district, middle school begins in seventh grade and one brick building takes both middle school and high school students, which meant that I was not only around new students, I was around students years older than me.
Changing into gym clothes in a locker room full of bellowing upperclassmen football players for the first time, I found some vitality left in me. There are few places more full of raw energy than a high school locker room and I felt it keenly. The bravado and animation of the athletes made me smile and gave me the energy I needed to head off to practice. I left that room inspired, though still apprehensive.
The runners were by the back entrance of the school, where other teams were also gathering for the day’s practices. The sky was a bright blue, the air was warm and the sun was bright. I remember the activity out there, how invigorating and intimidating it was.
I was in seventh grade, now a long time ago. I still wore glasses, had curly orange hair, and was small; very small. I can only imagine how I looked walking over to my new teammates.
But I remember perfectly how they greeted me. All grinning and laughing, I was one of them in a moment. I was slapped on the back and hugged by everyone. One of the guys put his arm over my shoulder, crowing that he was no longer the shortest on the team and an older girl brought my adorable twelve-year-old self over to her friends like I was a new puppy. The coach, though he looked somewhat menacing at first, was as animated as the rest and welcomed me heartily.
Back then, the cross-country team was even smaller than it is today, perhaps 10 athletes and only one other middle schooler. By the end of that first practice, I knew every name as well as my own and counted them all as dear friends.
Read the full story here: youngwritersproject.org/node/10580
I honestly couldn’t sleep the night before. I was so excited. When I finally did sleep, it wasn’t much. I woke at 6 a.m. to my normal alarm and hopped right up. My fencing gear was already packed and I had food and water. I was running through it in my head, “In the placement round place high, fence good and in the eliminations crush the weak opponents and reserve energy for the people who were harder.” It was all there. The plan was set and I was ready.
My father and I loaded into the car. The tournament was an hour away and started at 8 a.m. Since we left at 6 a.m., that would leave me time to warm up. The car ride was long and nerve racking. I listened to music to try to calm down, but nothing worked.
When we arrived, I changed and warmed up. While warming up, I scouted out the competition: One kid from Canada I had never seen fence, kids that I had fenced before, and quite a few newbies. There were others, but I didn’t know what to make of them.
After a quick warm up, the woman in charge called out, “All youth 12 fencers to me please.” We congregated around the woman and she went over some basic tournament rules and the format. We would be split into two groups of 12 and every one would fence each person once. Once that was done, the scores would be tallied and that would determine who fenced whom in the eliminations.
I made it through with two losses and ten wins, putting me in fourth place for the placement rounds and earning me a bye (when you get to skip a round of elimination).
I hooked in and stood on my line, “Fencers ready,” the man called out. A small pause then “fence.”
I rushed forward fully prepared for the point. My foil extended (the foil is the weapon in fencing that I use), but he countered with a parry and lunged forward. I backed up out of his range and continued to retreat. What I learned was, he was fast and his parries were good. I just had to be faster. It turned out, that was his weakness and I got 10 more points to win the bout. We shook hands.
The third place match was next. By this time, everyone was tired and I was not ready for this match. Especially, once I figured out it was against the Canadian. He was top 100 in the U.S. and his mother was an Olympic fencer. The bout was six minutes or first to 10.
The official called out, “fencers ready” a long pause then “fence.” Back and forth we went and point to point with each growing more and more tired. We started to throw crazy moves running at the opponent, each of us trying to get the extra point with sharp stabs, then rolling off the strip each time, stopping the bout. Time was getting low: one minute, 30 seconds. He scored and I knew it was all over.
We reset at the line, a massive grin on his face. “Five seconds remain,” the man called out. I knew if I ran at him at top speed I would at least have a chance. “Fence” the man called out. I ran, leaped, then stabbed. He parried, but it was too late! I scored! The match went into overtime. The overtime point was also mine!
I won the silver medal, but sadly I lost the gold medal bout. I will get them next time.
Read the full story at youngwritersproject.org/node/10543