Creative Writing: The Kite Runner

Runners, on your mark. Get set! POW! Every race starts the same. The different teams warmed up, did their stretches, checked out the course, and then proceeded to count down the final minutes until being herded like cattle to the start line. But this time was different; I remember the excitement filling the air that day. The need to get the best time of the season, to put a smile on my parent’s face, my coach’s face, and most importantly mine, took over my mind. Sitting at our campsite, I began to think about all the hard practices in the excruciating heat when I did not think I would survive, or the practices that went late into the evening. They all brought me to this very moment. This was the day that I would give it my all in the state

Coach Licari kept reminding us the worst parts of the course. “Now remember girls, there is a part of the course where none of the coaches will be, and that is where you will have to be mentally tough. Also remember to drive your knees up the hill like we did in practice.” The course was full of long and treacherous hills, and long straightaways that seemed to go on for an eternity. Numerous pine trees lined the course, some small, and others tall and wide. Some parts of the course were covered with so many needles that grass was barely

I almost felt like I was famous; spectators were cheering for their team and snapping pictures, wanting our attention. I chuckled to myself, finding the attention a little over the top. My team started our ritual by doing our short bursts to make sure our legs were warm and loosened up, and coach came over to our huddle to repeat his last words of advice, He was so excited; I could see it in the expression on his face and the way his words sprung out of his mouth, but he was also nervous for he wanted everyone to do well that day. After he left, we put our right leg in the circle and the left one out, hooked our arms around each other, prayed that each of our races would be our best, and ended like we always do with “may the hills be short and the flats be long.” We were giddy and giggling from nervousness and excitement, as we made our way back to our neat semi-big box that was spray painted on the grass. The athletes stood at the start line and waited patiently for the starter to arrive. I was anxious, but also thrilled. My heart was beating so hard I thought I was going to have a heart attack. Everyone was eager for the gun to sound. The starter walked up to his position; he was wearing an orange vest over his blue polo shirt along with khaki pants. He portrayed a very serious man, but then again, I guess he had to be, for he was starting a very important race. As he was getting up