I never finished my state race.
Every race starts the same; with a jolting gun and a flood of adrenaline. Feet leaping across morning dew to get out in front to intermingle with leading packs. I feel each individual water droplet being kicked up by the toes of spikes in front of me and onto my eyelashes and face; blurring my vision. I see pony tails flipping from side to side in coarse whips; and numbers on the backs of jerseys, that if multiplied, would exponentially grow into the thousands. Screams and cheers blanket the air but my mind neglects to comprehend any of them. My line of sight is intently focused on the crowd of girls in front of me as I weave through trees and over rolling hills. I gradually reel girls in like fish on my hook. I lock in …show more content…
Staring up at faces that looked as if they were distorted by funhouse mirrors. Once my vision restored itself, I saw the blue walls and breathed in the potent smell of sterile medical equipment. My doctor came in and told me what had happened. I had passed out in the last 20 meters of my race. He assured me that they did all the tests they could, but found nothing wrong with me except an unexplainably high blood sugar of 359. Yes, 359, higher than most diabetics want their blood sugar to be. However, his news was nothing new to me. I had been to hospitals again and again due to the same incidents in 5k races. I hadn't finished two other races that season and I wouldn't be able to make it to my fifth race junior year because of the same plaguing condition. Doctor after doctor told me there was nothing wrong with me and that there was nothing neither they nor I could do. Several told me to quit running completely and I simply answered back with a blatant no. I returned such a blunt response because quitting was out of the question. The only thing I hate more than losing, is giving up. Running is more than just my hobbie or a sport I compete in. It’s something that I’ve grown to learn
Every race starts the same; with a jolting gun and a flood of adrenaline. Feet leaping across morning dew to get out in front to intermingle with leading packs. I feel each individual water droplet being kicked up by the toes of spikes in front of me and onto my eyelashes and face; blurring my vision. I see pony tails flipping from side to side in coarse whips; and numbers on the backs of jerseys, that if multiplied, would exponentially grow into the thousands. Screams and cheers blanket the air but my mind neglects to comprehend any of them. My line of sight is intently focused on the crowd of girls in front of me as I weave through trees and over rolling hills. I gradually reel girls in like fish on my hook. I lock in …show more content…
Staring up at faces that looked as if they were distorted by funhouse mirrors. Once my vision restored itself, I saw the blue walls and breathed in the potent smell of sterile medical equipment. My doctor came in and told me what had happened. I had passed out in the last 20 meters of my race. He assured me that they did all the tests they could, but found nothing wrong with me except an unexplainably high blood sugar of 359. Yes, 359, higher than most diabetics want their blood sugar to be. However, his news was nothing new to me. I had been to hospitals again and again due to the same incidents in 5k races. I hadn't finished two other races that season and I wouldn't be able to make it to my fifth race junior year because of the same plaguing condition. Doctor after doctor told me there was nothing wrong with me and that there was nothing neither they nor I could do. Several told me to quit running completely and I simply answered back with a blatant no. I returned such a blunt response because quitting was out of the question. The only thing I hate more than losing, is giving up. Running is more than just my hobbie or a sport I compete in. It’s something that I’ve grown to learn