Normally, on a weekend, I’d sleep in. School work, family life, and track practice have a way of wearing me out. On this Sunday, though, my old-fashioned wind-up alarm clock sounds at 5:30 a.m. When I absolutely must get up, I don’t trust anything involving electricity. Track meet mornings are one of those occasions.

I hop out bed, pull on my compression shorts and running shows, and zip to the kitchen. Years of practice have taught exactly what to eat to be at my best: a glass of apple juice, two poached eggs on three pieces of buttered toast, a banana, and half a cup of coffee with milk. It takes twelve minutes to prepare and eat, and then I’m walking – not running, I want to save my energy – to catch the bus the meet.

There are four schools competing; lots of athletes and not many spectators due to the early hour. The 100 meter dash is my main event. In my usual style, I find a quiet place to stretch and focus. Half of a race is against one’s opponents, and half of it is against oneself. I can’t control what the opponents do, but there is much I can do to manage my surging adrenaline and pounding heart. When my race is called, I move to Lane 3.The starter gets us set, and then – CRACK! The gun sounds, and I erupt from the blocks with all the power I can muster. I let no one pass me. I feel the wind in my face and the victory tape against my chest.

Track and field has taught me so much. It has helped me to trust my coaches and my teammates – in a 4×100 relay, the baton pass is as important as running like the wind. I’ve learned that hard work pays off and mediocre work yields average results, at best. I’ve learned that a group of athletes – anyone, really – who support each other can lead the whole group to greatness. I have one more year of track. I will run it how I live: with everything I’ve got.