Track Meet by Lindsay

             The bus ride there is a blur. All anyone can think about are the events they will be competing in, and who their competition will be. Dropping backpacks down and hurrying to a space where everyone will stretch as a team, anticipation awakens spurts of adrenaline that send shivers down my spine. It's important that each muscle is recognized and stretched so as not to pull or tear something, which everyone pays attention to, because hurting yourself in the middle of track season can put a damper on things.
              Warm up time. The period between the different schools arriving and when the meet actually starts. If you use this time effectively and productively, it comes to good use, because if your legs are warmed up before running or jumping, or your arms are strengthened before throwing, everything will be so much easier.
               Hurdles are first, then the 100m Sprint. The 100m is a dash on the straightaway, different heats of girls first, then boys, slicing through the air, their arms pumping, to the finish line.
               On the intercom, an announcer calls out to everyone, "First call, girls, hundred-meter dash. First call, girls, hundred-meter dash!" That's me. Jogging to the starting line, I find a place in a lane in the first row within the number of other girls that are my competition. Really, you are your own competition, because it does not matter what place you come in, it's what your time is, and trust me, breaking your own personal record is one of the best feelings in the world.
                The Man With The Gun stands on the side of the track, briskly telling everyone the rules, even though barely anyone is listening, their ears clogged with mental-preparation. The first heat is up, the row of a random bunch of girls waiting to race next to me. "On your mark." The Man's eyes scan the line of runners. I take one last look out to my team, some watching, others already competing in field events, while my heart thumps, threatening to beat right out of my chest. "Get set." His eyes watch each person in their starting positions. A dreadful feeling of numbness falls over me, but the Crack! of the starting gun startles them back to life, each of my components taking off at a full sprint, some lagging behind, some in the middle, and some ahead of the others. I feel amazing-- my stride is mine, my body is mine, and I am aware of everything that is going on in this race. But it's over, a 15 second dash to the finish line that feels way shorter because that's what your mind has made you think.
                Relief, pride. The emotions come bubbling up, and you can't help but smile. Smile for your teammates, smile for yourself, and smile for everything that has built up to these meets. You just smile.