Autobiography: A Race to Remember by Tori Morris

I step off of the yellow school bus surrounded by crowds of teenagers preparing for their final race. Set up to my right are rows of tents containing athletes from several different school districts. When I turn around, I see the starting line a great distance away from where I am standing. I sit down under the tent and try not to let my nerves take over. I need to clear my head.

It is a brisk and sunny late October morning. On any normal Saturday, I would still be asleep in my comforting bed, but today is different. I have been preparing for this day ever since I began running last year. This being my second year of cross country and last time running on the junior varsity team, I feel like I have to prove myself on the course today.

There is a slight breeze in the air, and it is certainly colder than it has been on other meet days. Thankfully, I peek through the tent and notice that the ground looks dry and ready for the stampede of athletes who will be running through it in just a couple hours. I remember in previous years when the beautiful green course that I’m looking at now, appeared brown and swamp-like due to the a storm passing through the area a few days before the league meet. At least I could look forward to finishing in a clean uniform this time, I think to myself.

While debating whether I should retie my sneakers, I notice the crowds of spectators have gotten much larger. The first event must be starting soon. There are two events before I have to endure my last exciting and nerve racking race. I listen and witness the pistol go off twice before I make my way towards the starting line. I perform a few last minute stretches and take a final deep breath. My couch calls me over to the starting box and I get into position.

The referee in the bright orange shirt blows his whistle and my heart beats practically out of my chest. I take one final glance at my teammates around me. Most of them I will not see until the race is complete. The pistol goes off with a loud bang and I sprint ahead into the stampede of runners. All of the sudden, I realize that the crowd is motioning us to go back to the starting line. It must have been a false start. Trying not to get nervous, I make my way back to the starting box. I look to my teammates around me, they all look shaken up from the false start. The referee holds up the pistol for the second time and I rush through the disoriented group of runners. I focus on my breathing and then on my surroundings. On both sides of me are blurs of red, blue, and purple uniforms. I speed past multiple athletes known only by the color of their uniforms. At my left, I approach a slight incline. The applause and cheering motivates me to continue my climb. At the top, the ground levels off, so I pick up my pace.

I don’t take any notice to the people in front of me until someone calls out my name.

“Tori, you’re the third girl!” the voice yells, motivating me to not slow down. At this point, I’m in shock; there’s no way I could be that far ahead of the pack of girls in this coed race. Then, I sprint ahead and notice one of my teammates not too far in front of me. I hear a spectator say that she is in first. Now that my place is confirmed, I realize that I need to keep this pace in order to stay near the front.

Before long, the pack of runners and I travel through the second loop of the course. The finish line is so close, I can practically hear the sighs of relief coming from the runners who have already completed the race. When I reached the bottom of the last incline, I begin to slow down. My stamina is running out, but I need to push forward. A girl in a navy blue uniform passes me on the hill, and I begin to panic. I need to keep going. I need to keep going. I need to keep going. I repeat this phrase over and over again as I continue the trek up the hill.

Reaching the top, I’m met with the open gate leading to the track. Two hundred meters left. Another girl passes me. One hundred meters. The crowds of people around the track are cheering and the applause vibrating in the air is all I focus on. I hear a few people shout, “Go Tori!” and catch a glimpse at my mom close to the fence. I start to sprint. Fifty meters. I’m closing in on the finish line, and I can feel every hard step I take on the rubber track. I train my eyes on the chute lined with multicolored flags. Taking one final step, I cross the finish line and glance at the countdown clock a few feet from my face.

13 minutes and 50 seconds. Following the referee’s instructions, I raise my hand and wait in the line on the track to see if I won a medal. When I reach the front, the referee gives me a bronze medal with fifth place engraved on the front! I barely have time to think about my success before I am met with my mom handing me a water bottle and wrapping her arms around me.  Then, my cousin Seth walks past me and says, “Congrats!” I finally get a chance to glance at the ribbon around my neck. I am in shock with excitement.

One of my coaches comes towards me with a smile on her face. “Well, how did you do?” she asks as I hold up the medal so she can read my place. “Aren’t you proud of yourself?” She asks me. I think about that question and realize that I am proud of myself. All of the hard work I put into practice and the other meets paid off in the end. Even though I was in the “B” race, I still performed well and showed how much I improved throughout the season. My actions over the cross country season prove that I deserve fifth place. I smile to myself; there’s no way I’ll be forgetting about this incredible experience anytime soon.

Tori Morris on the right with her friend Erin Lipkus on the left.