Rachel Puckett

Journalism 1

Straight ahead. Study the path. Steady breathing is more efficient. Stay calm. Each fiber in your body is tense. Toned for this moment. Remember the work you put in. The constant pain endured six days a week.

They can smell your fear. All eyes are on you. Shake it off. Step up to the line. Prove the doubters wrong. On the outside you appear fearless. Inside…you are a wreck.

The whistle blows and you experience the longest three seconds of your life. Breathe in…out…in…and the gunshots split through the air. That’s your cue.

This is the moment every cross country runner trains for, lives for. Our choices affect the results. Some athletes are stricter than others but the truth is, we all care.

Our lives are changed by the provisions we incorporate in order to succeed the most, but our training isn’t all that we are.

We are family.

Cross country has taught me the value of friends. Spending hours every night together from late July to early November is definitely bonding time.

You see sides of your fellow teammates that you’d never see upon passing each other in the hallway. Because of this, you grow closer.

Through ups and downs you are together. When I’m running my best, someone is always on the side telling me that they are proud of me.

When the pain of my race becomes unbearable and I want to fake a fall to end the suffering, my teammates are there to encourage me. In return, I, too, work as an encourager.

The bonding our team has endured has made us what we are today. Because of this our team is cohesive. It just works.

As a runner since 6th grade, I have learned how important it is to work together. Today I am proud to announce that the GRC girls’ cross country team of 2016 is the best girls’ cross country team in the history of GRC.

The hardest part of the season is saying goodbye to our seniors.

During our farewells, proud as parents, the seniors hugged on us and expressed their excitement on how far we have come.

As the season concludes we’ve had to deal with the pain of knowing next year will not be the same. Next year will not include them.

You arrive at the last 800 meters; your legs burn. They are exhausted and you look dead. Arms flailing you stare at the clock. Is this your best time? Can it be better? Did every prepared muscle preform to its best potential?

Spent, you magically muster up the energy to sprint hard. Finish stronger. Smile wider. As each worn out muscle darts across the finish line, all previous struggles are forgotten.

A new reassurance of accomplishment flourishes over you. You did it, you’re tired, but you did it.

As for the season, I’m ready to run it again. It’s what I do. It’s who I am.