an entirely fictional account

it was only the fourth race of the season, and he was only a freshman. the first race had been a fiasco, the second a debacle. the third had been a success compared to the first two but only because it didn't involve his spending any time face down in the dirt. cross country was turning out to be a bit more difficult than he'd originally expected. everyone can run, right? hell, he'd been running since he was, like, 2. right? jeez. his parents said he had to "do something" - play an instrument, join a team, learn to sew. he chose cross country because - big surprise - he liked a girl on the team. she was a junior, dating a senior, but he'd managed to sit by her on the bus after the last meet.

it was only the fourth race of the season, and he was only a freshman. his teammates were migrating towards the line. it was go time. stay on your feet. stay on your feet. stay on your feet. less than 22 minutes - if he could focus, maybe less than 21 minutes - and it would be over. somebody's mom had brought sandwiches to make a small dent in the boredom of the 2 hour bus ride home. just 22, maybe 21, minutes, and he could find lucy, ask her how was her race, try to pay more attention to what she was saying than how shiney is her hair. the girls and boys ran in the same end-of-summer hot humidity - how could she still smell so good on the ride home... there's the gun - oh my god - here we go.

it was only the fourth race of the season, and he was only a freshman. he could do this. he knew he could.