My body fills with anxiety,
anticipating the feeling
of the baton in my hand.
I begin a light jog but
as I feel the cold metal
on my skin, I run and
slow my breathing.

I hear people calling,
in the excitement.
My name, for me.
I hear the silence of
my teammates in awe.
Wondering if it was
really me running.
Regardless, I wouldn’t stop
until the race was done.

I could feel the wind,
refreshing on my skin,
as my body broke through.
feeling my feet
meet with the track
after every push forward.

The ground flies by,
the spectator’s faces
in complete blur.
I search out other racers,
not too far ahead,
that I need to pass.
My teammate to whom
I pass the baton.

I pull through to first,
like the speed of light.
The baton leaves my hand
and I slow to a stop,
smelling the hot dogs
from the concession stand.

I wait to see who wins.
Anticipation fills my heart.
We stay in first
and finish the race.
I scream and yell,
as my team
crosses the line
before the others.