Commended -- Junior Section
Launceston Church Grammar
The taste of salt hits my mouth. It is a familiar dry nervous taste. The taste of the 400 metres. Followed by the smell of sweaty body menthol. The combination of the two always makes me feel like I am going to pass out or vomit. You never know which one may show up. This time it is vomit. I wipe my mouth and begin the silent, gladiator like walk to the start line with the other U15 competitors. In my head, I am trying to convince my nerves to calm down. We can do this, we just need to breathe… in and out, in and out.
As I approach the track, I am star-struck. The track I am about to run on (possibly vomit on) is an eye-blinding, bright blue, new athletics track and the temperature is tropical hot. I am in paradise.
However, I cannot let jealousies distract me. I remind myself, 400m here is the same as 400m back home. Apart from the fact that, my home track is a red worn-out quilt covered in plate-sized disadvantage in Australia’s coldest state. Nonetheless, I tell myself, dreams can be realised anywhere by breathing… in and out, in and out.
As we approach the start line, the crowd in the stadium erupt as the stampede of future Olympic hopefuls fly pass. Thunderous clapping covering my racing heartbeat. Screams of joy, support and encouragement can be heard across the stadium.
My focus returns to the track. Waves of heat are rising off the blue, broken only by the thin white lines that I am bound by in this race. The taste of salt is starting to return, I feel like I am going to pass out. But just as quickly as that feeling arrives, screams from within the stadium interrupt my thoughts as the crowd starts up again, bringing me back to why I am here.
The runners from the previous race have crossed the finish line. Bodies leaning over, hands resting on their knees. Smiles from some and tears from others. Heavy breathing… in and out, in and out.
They have finished their dream but mine is about to start. I know that I do not have a lot of time before the gun goes off so I quickly set up my blocks in my start zone.
Push out, stay low, stick to the inside, 23 and 53 those are my measurements. Left foot forward, right foot back against the blocks – I place my hands methodically behind the stark white start line, inching as far forward as I can. I rise-up and push out with the building adrenaline. Reminding myself to breathe… in and out, in and out.
Walking back, my eyes briefly lock with the competitor on my inside lane, her eyes are wide and her hands are trembling. Smiling, I try to hide my fear that is swirling like a tornedo in my stomach. My Mum often says, for talent to be realised, you often have to put yourself into situations where you are uncomfortable. I am so there now.
Swaying rhythmically behind the blocks like palm trees in an afternoon breeze, the field waits for an official to give the signal. An excited hush blankets the crowd. The official ascends onto the starters box. Knowing that he holds the stadium in his hand, he raises the gun to the sky.
“ON YOUR MARKS!”
I settle down into the blocks for the last time. Kick left, onto the block. Kick right, onto the block. Try not to stuff it up.
“SET!”
Breathe… in and out, in and out.
“…BANG!”
The sound of the gun ignites me to fly out of the blocks, nerves and adrenalin powering my legs to move faster than they ever have before.
I dart around the first bend. The imposing doom of the field closing around me are filling my thoughts as I enter the back straight. Moving fast past my left shoulder I can feel someone coming up on my inside. Keep your cool and follow your race plan. I cruise down the back straight patiently conserving my energy and wait for my time to strike. Frantically swinging my arms and turning over my legs wildly. Chasing those ahead of me with desperate intention… Breathing in and out, in and out.
I hear the jungle, which tells me that we are now at the final and decisive last bend, the crowd of parents, coaches, friends, teammates, spectators all erupting in the stadium at the same time. Lactic is starting to attack my body but I cannot stop now as there is only metres to go… Breathe in and out, in and out.
The jungle is now deafening as the first three runners cross the finish line, followed by the rest of the field. I look around at the other competitors squinching with muscle pain and hope. Who medalled? Who made the podium? We all turn to the screen as we await the verdict. I hear my Mum scream before I see my name. I have just placed 2nd at Nationals and made the podium at an Australian Athletics Championship.
Elation fills my stomach and spreads to soothe my lactic arms and legs. It is over.
Walking over to the edge of the stadium I am instantly smothered by hugs and kisses from Mum. “Pictures! We need to take some pictures!” She proudly screams hysterically, fumbling around in her purse for her phone.
“I just want to sit down and I need a drink.” I stammer in between dehydrated labouring breaths… in and out, in and out.
Stepping up onto the podium, one trembling leg at a time, that initial taste of salt has been replaced with the smell of sweaty salty bodies. Nervousness gone, replaced by relief that on this occasion a dream has been realised and I am still breathing… in and out, in and out.