Scars of War; Running the 50 Yard Dash in Clogs

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Clogs, the fashionably hip choice of shoes mother picked out for their 4th grade daughters. I wore then all the time, for they were easy to slip on and off, and quite comfortable. They were not, however, the best running shoes.
Believe it or not, I was once very athletic. I was always the first girl to finish the mile, the girl who could do the most pull ups, and stretch furthest in v-sit. I had a reputation,and therefore when it came to do the 50 yard dash, I couldn't let anyone beat me. Walking over to the chalk marked beginning and end, I felt invincible. My name was eventually called, and I excitedly bounced over to the starting line.
"One your marks, get set -," Mr. Barta pulled the trigger to the cap gun and I was off! My strides were long and powerful, my arms pumping in unison, my clogs slowly slipping off my- OMG, WHY WAS I WEARING CLOGS?! One leg tripped over the other, and before I could catch myself I was falling face first into the paved street.
I still have the scar on my knee, and haven't seen as much blood since. The athlete in me must have drained out of my body as three of my elementary teachers tried stopping my flowing blood. No longer can I finish first in the mile, do any push ups, and can barely touch my toes while stretching. I blame those clogs for ruining my athletic future.





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