Dear Bystander,

As my feet pounded on the winding path and the wind pushed me forward, I rounded the first turn of the course. I was lost in the sea of the crowd as everyone bolted forward. I launched myself up the first hill and carefully placed my feet to avoid all the roots. My legs burned and my lungs were already exhausted, all that kept me going was the reminder of failure. I constantly reminded myself that I didn't want another disappointing race and another disappointing lecture. When I finally reached the one mile mark, the time was more than pleasing. Then I saw your sour expression. Once I saw you, I knew I was doing something wrong. The familiar look of, "Wow you need to pick it up," was being forced upon me. You just stood there yelling at me while flailing your arms as if that could push me to go faster.

At that moment, worry spread throughout me as all the moments I've failed to please you hit me like a wall. I told myself,"Do you want to bomb your race like last time?" The reminder of past mistakes encouraged me to pick up the pace. I lengthened my stride, pumped my arms a little harder, and opened up my lungs. I kept my eyes up and focused on moving up to the pack of girls in front of me. I pushed throguh the pain engulfing my legs and begged them to keep moving. Sweat poured down my face even through the chill of the air. All I could think about was hitting the 2 mile split. After what seemed like ages, I finally came upon the clock; my eyes fell on the time flashing before my eyes. I was at thirteen minutes, thirty seconds slower than planned. Your one liner filled my head,"What happened out there?"

I knew I had already disappointed you again, just like the last few races. The feeling of anger I carry from not pleasing myself started to wash over me. Throughout the last mile, I dug my spikes into the ground extra hard. My breath was raspy, my fingers were freezing, my legs were screaming, and my pace had slowed. I attacked the hills and pushed through the cramps. As girls around me began to kick it in, I started my sprint for the finish. As I crossed the finish line in fourteenth place with a time of 20:22, I was upset with myself. My goal had been to get under twenty minutes. Embarrassment rant through me because of my lack of improvement.

I lectured myself until I promised to be reminded that I don't want to repeat this race. I yelled myself so much that I'd covered your lecture too. I would carry this terrible moment until I made sure it wouldn't happen again. Not only would the memory of unsuccessfully running through the bitter cold weather with rain pouirng down my back stay plastered in my mind, it will be replayed over and over again. Frustration had consumed me, but I refused to let it stay with me.