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My face hits the surface,
breaking the tension
in the crystal cold pool.
My legs power on,
creating jagged water ripples
In the long fifty meter sprint.
My ears are unable to distinguish the screams,
muffled by the swim cap
into the roar of the water splashing.
My arms trudging through,
enhancing the speed,
in the racing sprint.
My feet smack against the edge,
body twisting in a complete 360,
into the gripped touchpad.
My mouth gasps for air as chlorine tickles my taste buds,
throwing off my swimming rhythm,
in the basic front stroke.
My goggles fog with moisture,
blurring my vision
in the last half to conquer.
My blood spreads, so full and true,
into my achy, tired, and exhausted body.
My eyes drift,
sneaking a glance at my competitors,
in the shark infested race.
aMy fingertips stretch to their fullest,
reaching, pushing, and attacking,
into the final touchpad.
My power source shuts down,
having reached the end
in this fifty meter race.
My bones drinking water, as I cling to the side,
waiting for the stop watch to calculate
on the electronic scoreboard.
My name, along with my record time, is announced,
booming fiercely, almost unable to make out the tiniest syllables,
in the microphone buzzing with static.
My swim teammates, as close as a family,
offer a hand to me, as I try to drag myself
out of the racing pool.
My body lay limp on the tile, surrounded by water,
thinking about my sprint time of 29.61 seconds,
in my last Clarkston varsity meet.
My time may not have won in the pool.
My time may not have won on the score board.
My time did win against my old time.
For that, this smile stretches from the earth to the moon on my face.
My time has won the most important;