I’m not strong. I’m no hero. The part of me that is even somewhat strong is my ability to run.

That’s the Greek part of my name. Like the Olympics my name originated in Greece. My running isn’t the best, but I still set goals, practice, and race. All I can think of is how I’m going to run my next race.

I get out to what I think is a controlled pace. My coach is yelling out splits. I’m fast again, so I have to back it down for a while. I have to hang onto this group. Hit this downhill and pass some people. I can see the end of the first mile around the corner, and I come across in 5:45. I’m on pace and can finish at my goal time.

The second mile is tougher, and I have to concentrate more. Coming into the fan zone should help. I can hear my parents and my friends’ parents cheering, “Go Alex, come on, you’re doing good.” It feels good to know those people know my name and want me to race my race. Another coach is screaming at me, telling me to concentrate on my arm drive and moving. I do that and move across the two-mile at 11:30.

Finally the last mile. I pass runners and take tight, fast turns to get my best time. I hear people screaming. The adrenaline is rushing through my body. Final time 17:50.

My teammates come and congratulate me on my race. It’s not a great time for a varsity runner, but it’s good enough to be our sixth. My coach yells out, “Fenn, great job,” and I get a high-five and find out what he thinks of my race.

At the awards ceremony I listen for my teammates names to get their medals. Time for the team medals. “In first place Arrowhead,” and I go up with my team to get our medals and plaque. Awards are over. Pictures are over. Time to go relax until practice tomorrow.