I was determined to try my hardest. But with this awful, bitter weather,
how could I?
In seventh grade I was in track and I ran the 400 meter dash. I was the
last meet of the year. The Milbank Middle School track team went to Sisseton and
unfortunately this horrid town was cold, windy, and occasionally spitting rain.
As mentioned before, I had to run the 400 meter dash that day. No one wanted to
run; the Milbank team spent most of their day under an assortment of blankets.
Alas, the reason we were there was to compete. “Girls 400 meter dash,” boomed
through the vicinity with a static-y voice that was hard to understand.
After waiting for 30 minutes, the officials put us
into our groups. I was put into the fastest heat, the one where all the girls
were small, athletic and could run once around the track in a minute and 15
seconds. I knew I would never beat them. “I’m not fast enough,” I thought. I
started in lane 4 and I looked around at the five other runners. They were
dreading this almost as much as I was.
All
I could hear is the howling wind that was freezing bare legs. Somehow, I heard
the gunshot (since the wind was very noisy) and I started to run, fast. I
started off strong and ran in fourth for about 20 seconds.
My speed died and two girls passed
me, and then I gave up.
I started to focus more on the
nasty, grey sky than trying to win. I’d lost and I was cold, sweaty and in low
spirits. That concludes my worst running experience ever.