Personal Narrative: My High School Race

The first time that I competed in a race, I was still a small premature boy. I had no incentive to run, other than a child's desire to be free and wild. There was no trophy waiting at the end. All there was, was the smile and compliment of encouragement a parent gave a child. My friends and I were excited and nervous. There would be kids who were in the Sixth Grade there! The race was a long race going around a track, through a trail and then doubling back. Since I was still a quiet boy who liked to remain in the background, the older boys pushed their way with ease to the edge of the starting line. The gym teacher signaled for us to start and the wave of people flooded the track. My friends and I always were always competing with each other for best mile time in Gym class. This was just another one of those moments. As we ran through the trail, I saw a friend being led by a volunteer. Crying and bellyaching, he was walked off the course. The initial questions of concern came to mind, and quickly passed as we ran on. My feet crunch the gravel as I am still a child running for the sense of freedom. With one of my best friends now beside me on the track, we make the turn into the final stretch. I know that I am tired and just want to reach the finish line. However, my best friend sped up along with a few other boys. They were still
Looking at this from years to come, I came to realize the actual reality of this race. The “long race” couldn’t have been more than a mile. The many people at the start had only been about 30 kids. The sixth graders who pushed their way to the front, I now looked upon them as “the younger kids.” As age pushed me forward, so did my attitude. Within this photo I saw an excited teenager, a teenager who was confident and relieved from his success. He had worked hard for his win and was overjoyed to represent his school. How could there have ever been a time that I let others beat