Hurdles This work has been published in the Teen Ink monthly print magazine.

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   The walk is not bad. The track is wet from the rain, but it should not matter. The sun is

out now and it's drying. This is it. The weeks of practice come down to this minute.

Ironic. No more distractions once he takes his place. The feet are in the starting

blocks, and anticipation builds. There will be two commands, runners set, then the gun.

Set. POW!!!!

The adrenline explodes like Mount Saint Helen's. Feet pound around him as it

approaches. Then it's time. He explodes through the air and lands on the other side.

Seven to go.

Time to reacclerate. The opponents are in view. The first hints of weakness begin to

materlize. No time to worry, he has got to move. Time again. In the air ... down.

Six to go.

Feet pound once again. The initial adrenline burst has faded. All at once his cause seems

hopeless, the staggered start is too long. Despair seizes him like a falcon diving on a

rabbit. The steps are wrong. Too late. Up ... CLANK ... didn't quite clear it, he's alright

and so he continues.

Five to go.

The lines begin to take their bend. But what's this? There is no accleration. The other

feet surge ahead they seem to move faster and faster, or is it dizziness? He wonders

about them even as his own feet pound on. Another studder before take off ... he made

it.

Four to go.

It's now or never. The stagger is almost made up. He's still behind. Faster the feet fly.

Then it hits, his reserves are burnt. It shoots up and down. He's tired. Never going to do

this again ... wrong foot!!

Three to go.

But wait - suddenly there is a second wind. The feet are going to be right this time.

No more messing up. The others are not invincible. Up ... Perfect!!

Two to go.

The strain is great. The others begin to falter. Now it's time. Almost there. He sees the

others jump, and ... yes! Two clanks. His turn ... again perfect.

One to go.

It's neck and neck; all four in a line. Then he sees just one. The second wind begins to

dissolve, but he has no time for all that. Got to move. It approaches. The feet are wrong.

Way too soon ... reaching ... Got it! Not perfect, but that's all right.

Now a mad scramble for the line. No time to care for being tired ... reaching ... Did he get

it?

YES !!! He looks back. The wet track didn't matter




This work has been published in the Teen Ink monthly print magazine. This piece has been published in Teen Ink’s monthly print magazine.






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