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No Way Are You Beating Me!
Eight lanes, each divided by a thick line of white. The finish line, only one hundred meters ahead. To the right was the audience, anxiously waiting to see which school would win the race. To the left is the football field with other competitors warming up to their races.
“Runners to your marks!”
Time to race.
I carefully set first my right then my left foot into the starting blocks, making sure they are in just the right place. I keep my knees low with the right one resting on the ground. My thumbs and first fingers are even with the starting line in front of me. I keep my head down and try to relax a bit. I turn my head slightly to the right and see one of my opponents focusing on the race, then turn it back and focus on what I have to do.
I lift my legs in the air, keeping my feet firmly planted on the blocks. My arms are almost straight now, I can feel my fingers resisting to the weight of my body. “Keep calm,” I say to myself. “Be ready to leap out of the blocks.” I am ready.
I spring out of the blocks, using all of the speed and force I can. I raise my head after a couple of steps and start fixing my form. “On my toes, keep my knees high and head straight ahead.”
I am by the stands now and can hear the audience yelling, but I can’t make out anything they are saying. I can feel the wind gushing around me as I speed on.
Then I see the girl.
She is a couple of feet in front of me. “I can catch her,” I say to myself. “She’s not going to beat me.”
I’ve had races like this before. I’ve seen a girl who is catching up to me or who is only a little bit in front of me and I give everything I have to not let that girl beat me. This determination made me able to quicken my pace.
We are now only a little ways from the finish line. I can see the line very clearly with the sun glinting off of it.
I am catching up to the girl. There is a smaller distance between us, but I don’t have much time. I can feel my mouth getting dry and sweat dripping down my face. Breathing is getting harder and I am starting to feel my muscles ache.
I am still gaining on the girl, but I won’t have time to beat her at this pace. I have to go faster. And, even though it doesn’t seem possible, I did. I quickened my pace.
The finish line is only six yards in front of me. I am only half a foot from the girl. I am tired, but I have to finish, I have to beat her.
Not even a second later, I pass the girl with two steps to go to the finish line. I keep my pace as I take those last two steps with an exhilaration I feel when I beat a person after giving my all.
After crossing the finish line, I start slowing down, although I am starting to go around the corner when I finally stop. I turn around and walk back to the finish line where I wait for someone to show me my time. As I wait, I think about the race and how my determination allowed me to beat the girl. I have always had a sort of competitiveness in me. I don’t know where I got it, but everything I do is made into a race, a competition. Even if the people, or person, I am racing don’t know it’s a race.
I remember in forth grade how I would try to finish a worksheet or test before anyone else. I would look at my peers and watch to see how many problems they had left and try to make myself go faster. I really doubt any of my classmates knew I was racing them.
I guess this is why I couldn’t let that girl beat me, I am extremely competitive. This can sometimes be a good thing, but it can also be a bad thing. It’s good to be competitive because, on my part, it gives me the drive to always do my best. Other times, it can make games not fun. If I lose, or someone else gets upset with me trying so hard to win, competitiveness can be bad. During my race, though, competitiveness was a good thing. It made me determined to not let the girl beat me, and, as a result, I had a better race and got a good time.