The sunlight wasn’t as welcoming as it should have been that day. Dozens of kids wearing the same black uniform poured through the set of doors and down the flight of stairs. The noise that filled the air was abundant with laughter and chit-chat. Occasional talk of anxiety fluttered around, which wasn’t a huge shock. It was the fourth meet of the season-- exactly half-way from the district championships.

The schedule for each race was written in black-and-white, posted just above the bulletin board in the hall. As my eyes scanned the papers, I could sense stress building up inside me like a tower of legos. I would be running two relay races. As a team, I couldn’t have been more sure of our future victory. Individually, I wasn’t so sure that I would walk away proud of my performance.

I was a strong and valuable asset to the team. My confidence shouldn’t have had any reason to waver in my abilities whatsoever. Although after every race, I doubted myself just a bit more. It wasn’t that I was doing bad; no it’s that I wasn’t improving. With the doubt weighing on my shoulders like a pile of bricks, I wasn’t sure just how much more I could take. I was determined to make a difference today and walk away with a crown of gold atop my head.

The warm-up routine passed as normal; backpacks filled the bleachers, kids ran down to start their laps, and others helped get things organized for the event. A bit more antsy than normal, I began my laps around the track. The wind blew against my hair, making a whoosh sound in my ear. It wasn’t enough to drown out the thoughts in my head of hesitation. My eyes stayed glued to the ground, focused on the rhythm and timing of my feet. I finished like normal and started my stretches.

As numbers were chanted in unison, they became mere background noise to the voice in my head whispering that I won’t do well. With every team that made its way to the track, the twisting and turning of my stomach increased bit by bit. Uniforms of blue and gold, black and yellow, even red and white filled the school grounds. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky, making the colors all the more vibrant. 

Coaches informed their athletes that the first event was about to start; the 100m sprint. Luckily or unluckily, I wasn’t running in the event. My worries and anxiety would have to cling to me for just a tad longer. 

Time itself was practically running a race that day; how quickly could it get to my event? In what felt like a sheer minute, I was on the sidelines waiting for my heat. It was a relay race and I would be the leading leg. I was handed a metallic blue baton, along with the realization that within a few minutes I would be sprinting my heart out.

I walked onto the track and took a deep breath. I jumped, shook out what nerves I could, and prepared myself for the gunshot. Until the loud shot rang out, I tried to gather all the confidence I could possibly muster in that moment.

The shot went off. A rush of adrenaline surged over me, and I gave it all I got. One foot in front of the other, a bit faster with each step. I was in the lead. Already I could feel myself approaching my limits, but I would push through. I refused to accept anything less. I leaned into the last curve and sped up. The race wasn’t over and I wasn’t done either. I made it to the final stretch and let loose. I switched off my mind and let my legs carry me to the finish line.

I crossed the finish line, baton in hand, and passed it to my teammate. I looked behind me to see where my competitors were and to my surprise, they weren’t even close. When the race was over, the coach pulled me over to tell me my time.

1:07. I had improved myself by 10 whole seconds. I didn’t ever want the moment to slip away; I had never felt more proud of myself. The thing is, improvement as big as that is rarely found. It was a feat to improve like that just in a few days. 

All the kids packed up their things and waved goodbye to the teams. Some athletes ran into the arms of their parents or were greeted by a high-five, while others simply went back into the building. Everyone was proud and I couldn’t help but feel the same way too. We walked away from the event with a victory. Although, I think I walked away with the biggest victory of all. An improvement so vast only promised that greater things were to come in the future. I took one last glance back at the track knowing that I had left all I had out there. I could no longer hear voices filled with doubt, but much rather a new one with immense determination that would stick with me for years to come.