November 10, 2008
By Rob Wegley, Glenview, IL

Wind whips my hair out of my eyes,
I glance up and see the finish line, “come to me” it cries,
Suddenly some kid from Shepard starts to stare me down,
Of course being the only one in orange I must look like a little clown,
Track Season 7th grade,
Running against a huge muscular 8th grader, he must have it made,
Again I look around,
But everyone’s from Shepard so I look back to the ground,
“Focus,” I say, “you have to win this race.”
The huge guy next to me laughs, “you’ll be lucky if you place.”
This makes me mad; my eyes light up like flames,
The starter shows up, no more fun and games,
“Set,” The starter says, I taste the cold in the air,
In a split second he’d have us go, and before that moment to move, you wouldn’t dare,
Instead he took about an hour to fire off the gun,
Stuck in the ready position ready to run,
The gun goes off and now it’s a race,
However not for me, I fall flat on my face,
“No way, I can’t just stop, not today.”
I get up and then I’m on my way,
I’m far behind but I don’t care,
I start running wind in my hair,
“This is it,” inside I cry,
I’m running and a few people I go by,
50 meters left, the undefeated muscular guy just up ahead,
“You’ll be lucky if you place,” he had said,
I’ll never forget when he looked at me,
Running past him, faster than the eye can see.

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