#2 Long Sentences

During my junior year in high school, I felt ambitious and decided to try out track for the first time in my life. I had already been a soccer player for many years and from that experience knew I could run fast, even if I could not run very far. I loved the idea of hurtles and since I knew how to jump from Irish dance, I figured, how hard could it be?

The practices are now all a blur, but I remember racing around the halls of my high school, practicing the starting position, and then of course hopping over the hurtles time and time again. I was soon told I jumped too high and should try to stay closer to the hurtle, but it was hard to break my lessons in Irish dance that had taught me to jump high and make it pretty. Starting was a challenge too because I was never fast enough out of the gate. It felt so awkward with my butt up in the air and my feet spread apart. I would wait for the whistle anxiously as the pellets of turf dug into my palms. When I finally heard the blow, I would push up with all of my strength, but not forward enough to help my time.

Finally, I got my first chance in a track meet to compete. My hands were sweaty and I had to keep wiping them on my thin gold shorts. I took my place and crouched into the awkward stance. My competitors warmed up and got into position beside me, making me feel slightly trapped in the second row. I took a deep breath as my heart pounded and my muscles tensed. Finally, the gun shot off and we sprang from our posts. I dashed forward as well as I could, staring down the first hurtle. My right leg flew up to try and clear the metal bar, but something went wrong. Before I knew what tangled where, I slammed against the rough track. The shock took a few seconds to wear off, but I wasn't done yet. I gritted my teeth and pushed myself up (as good soccer players know how to do) while rushing towards the next hurtle. My face was warm with exertion and embarrassment, but I grudgingly jumped over each hurtle until I finally ran to the end of the hundred meters,

Needless to say I finished last, but at least I finished, and that's all that matters to me.

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There's a little nonfiction for you, since I did struggle a bit for a topic. I think that might end up being one of the hardest part of this month. As I mentioned yesterday, I'm quite a fan of long sentences, but actually being aware of sentence length can make me self-conscious. I actually kept telling myself "No no no, that sentence would be too short. Make it longer!" The fact that I wrote about a fast race with long sentences is a little silly. It feels like how I would relate this story to a friend in my fast-talking-almost-incomprehensible manner. Ah well, it's a somewhat cherished memory and I always liked that about nonfiction.

Until tomorrow, my friends!