As
I walk through the glass doors, I hear the loud crowd ahead of me. Sweaty athletes
walk by me, calmly catching their breath. I walk up the stairs to the stands,
as I watch my coach pull out my number from his blue bag, “Your event is next,
go warm up,” he advises me. As I pin my number onto my uniform, I glance at the
track beneath me. I could see the boys competing, some in which looked as if they
might pass out. My heart started to beat fast, “Jaleen, come warm up with me.”
We walked down to the warm up area filled with other athletes preparing for their
race, “Let’s do two laps, drills, then stretch after,” she suggested, in which I
agreed. As we followed the guiding green lines beneath our feet, I could feel
my breakfast reaching my chest. “How do you think you’re going to do today?” I
asked. She sighed and shrugged, “To be honest, I feel like my nervousness will
get to me.” I looked at her, and I could see she was edgy, “Me too, but I’m
going to try my hardest to beat my personal record.” After we finished the two
laps, we started the drills. I put one leg up, while the down; no arms, then
arms. Right when we were about to finish the drills, the speaker went off, “First
call for the Individual 200 Meter Run, I repeat, first call for the Individual 200
Meter Run.” Jaleen and I exchanged the same look, “I swear the PSAL never has
good timing,” she grumbled. We grabbed our belongings and went back upstairs,
where we could see a crowd walking towards the check in area. I heard the official
scream, “Ladies! Take out your spikes so we can verify them before you walk in.”
When I reached the opening, I showed the official my spikes in which she
approved. Only two more steps to go. I sat down on the floor, next to my team.
We all took off our sweats, sweaters, and trainers, changing into our spikes. “Ladies!
When I call your name and lane, get in line with your heat,” the official instructed.
I applied blistex whilst she yelled names, I knew I had to wait a while before I
was called. As girls on my team were called, I wished them the best of luck. Ten
minutes passed until heat 7 was called, “Amani Farraj, Midwood; lane 5 heat 7.”
I threw my bag to the side, taking one last savoring sip of water. As I walked
to my heat, I noticed many of them were muscular, taller, and older than me.
Once again, my heart beat faster. I took slow, calm, and deep breaths in and
out as the official guided us towards the track. We were lined on the side of
the poll, in lane 8, as we waited for the previous heat to finish up. I watched
the form of the girls as they ran, admiring their precious talent. “Alright
now,” the official peered in my direction, “Heat 7, get in your lanes.” My
heart was beating out of my chest now, as I placed myself behind the white line
in lane 5. I took two steps back, placing myself in the down starting position.
“On your mark…” The official raised the gun held in his hand, “Get set…” I
raised my body, leaning my weight to the point where it was held by just my
fingertips. I took one last deep breath, keeping my head faced down. Finally,
the gun went off with a loud “boom”.