Personal Narrative: My First Cross Country

As the hot wind blew over the runners on the start line, I started to jump up and down in preparation for the imminent race. We were at the first cross country meet of my junior year, and nerves were abundant. I readied myself at the start line and I began considering my success in past years. The first two years of high school passed quickly, and I tried to recall the rapid improvement I experienced. The coming year was different; with other commitments to consider, I was worried my running career would suffer. The loud, sharp voice of the course marshal brought me back to the present. The gun rang above the crowd, and hundreds of girls converged to begin the race. As we jostled and sprinted down the first hill, I saw my junior year before my eyes. While the first race of the season would end well, I would slow down at each successive meet. Failure was a large part of that season, but the key would be learning from it, something with

As one explanation was ruled out, I would rapidly turn to another. I blamed slow times on the negligence of my coach. I blamed slow times on the stress of the school year. I blamed slow times on my teammates’ unwillingness to push harder. Reflecting on that time, I alienated myself in a search for knowledge, and that alienation only fostered more unhappiness. I wasn’t improving, stuck in an endless dark circle of disappointment and rejection.

My coach’s voice at the first mile brings me back to the first race of the season. He shouts my mile time, but his effort is in vain; I am stuck in a large pack of runners and I fail to hear his voice over the roar of worry and determination. I turn around a corner, and a steep hill looms in the distance. I sense my heart beat speeding up in anticipation, and I recall the all too familiar sensation of burning legs as I reach the foot of the hill. I must push myself up the hill, although I feel as if I may