Personal Narrative-Racism

Every race has a finish line. In all activities in life, there is always the eventual finish line. More and more as I drew closer to finalizing this book, I found myself imagining I was entering the final straightaway of the greatest race of my life. Not more than a hundred meters in front of me was the finish line. I could see it and I could feel it. But as I had previously learned, one thing was always certain about a race. Crossing that finish line would either create a joyous conclusion to hours of hard work and dedication or, produce what can seem to be another inexhaustible flood of disappointment. However, I also knew that even if it became yet another wave of disillusionment, the frustration will soon be replaced by the birth of another strategy aimed at achieving success. It’s what made my running experience the never-ending voyage of hope that it was and what continually reminded me that in life, “Success is never permanent and

To me, ‘Everything in life happens for a reason;” it was basically my job to figure out why. And when running dropped into my life, seemingly in the form of the ultimate epiphany, it simply allowed “the loneliness of the long distance runner” aspect of my psyche to emerge, flourish, and, in the process, further develop that introspectiveness. Embedded within the thousands of miles I‘ve run, a multitude of life lessons and philosophies materialized and were incorporated into the basic foundation of what made me, me.

One of the things I’ve always loved about the simple act of running is its ability to force you to think completely rationally while doing it. While running, you always seem to think in what I called “straight lines,” where reality was never clouded by unnecessary conjecture. Regretfully, I didn’t always agree with the results of those lactic acid fueled self-analytical experiences, but because running never lied to me, I almost always trusted the final verdict it would