Editor’s note: Abby Fleetwood wrote a personal narrative about winning the Eagle Classic cross-country meet for Alyssa Stanley’s seventh-grade language arts class. Stanley chose to share this particular story with the newsroom because “not only does this piece of writing meet the expectations of the assignment so fully, but when reading Abby’s story, we embark on the journey of a champion,” Stanley wrote.
Sprinting. Sprinting as fast as I could possibly go. Just 100 more meters until the pain was over. There were people behind me, sprinting as fast as their bodies could handle. Just a few seconds left. My feet slapped the finish line as my brain snapped into reality.
I couldn’t believe in myself. So many runners. So many fans. There was no way. A young girl from Brown County winning the Eagle Classic doesn’t sound very imaginable. I was seeded to get fifth, which was better than what I got last year, 10th. My palms were sweating. My heart was pounding. I knew it was going to hurt. I wasn’t ready for this.
I had already envisioned how I was going to run. I had been since the beginning of the cross-country season. I was going to stay behind the girls in front of me, no matter their speed. If any one of the girls sped up, I was going to speed up with them. I would stay behind the girl the whole way until we had 400 meters until the chute. (The chute is where you sprint.) When we got to about 400 meters left, I was going to pick up the pace. Then, once I got into the chute, I was going to sprint as fast as my body could go.
“On your marks!” the official said.
For what felt like a year, I was standing with my shoe right on the spray-painted white line. I took a look to my left and right. There were about 100 feet on the line along with me. Which one was going to step across the finish line?
The official held up a pistol and a red flag. Seconds later, he swung the flag down as he fired the pistol. Everyone was screaming. They were so loud that I bet the other county could hear them.
Everyone was sprinting to stand out, to get out of the pack. This was the time I could show off what I could do. I sprinted and got right behind the lead runner.
The runner in front of me had long blond hair — so long that if it was any longer it would have hit me in the face. I stayed right on her heels. If she sped up, I was going to speed up with her. There was no way she was getting away from me.
We ran past the one-kilometer mark. All of a sudden, another girl popped up ahead of us. This girl had a shorter stride than the girl with the long blond hair. These girls were from the same school, North Clay.
When we turned onto the second lap, the pain started to come. My legs slowly became rubber bands, getting harder and harder to stretch out. I wanted to slow down, but I knew I shouldn’t.
Once again, the crowd started yelling. I blurred them out.
I didn’t want to hear everyone cheering me on. I knew what I had to do. I didn’t want to hear anyone say “Good job!” until the end of the race. I hadn’t won the race, yet.
The girl with the long hair all of sudden disappeared. She just vanished. The pain tried to force me to drop back, but I didn’t. I stayed right behind the short-haired girl. She tried to pull away, but there was no way I was dropping back.
We ran past the two-kilometer mark. We were more than halfway through the course.
We ran past another crowd. I blurred them out again. The race wasn’t over.
Out of nowhere, another girl cut us off. I have run against this girl before. I have beaten her every time. “How did she get up here so fast?” I thought.
It didn’t matter. She wasn’t going to be in the lead for long.
I stuck to my race plan and picked up the pace, leaving the other girl in the dust. I was in the lead.
There was great discomfort in my legs. The pain of simply putting each foot in front of the other was excruciating, and there was the trouble of swinging my arms back and forth to keep my legs going. My whole body hurt, but I had to stay in the lead. Nobody was going to beat me — at least, not without a fight.
I turned into the chute. I went all out.
Sprinting. Sprinting as fast as I could possibly go. Just 100 more meters until the pain was over. There were people behind me, sprinting as fast as their bodies could handle. Just a few seconds left.
Suddenly, my feet slapped the finish line as my brain snapped into reality.
My eyes were blurry and I couldn’t see. I could barely stand.
I wanted to sit down and fall asleep. But I had to keep walking. My mom was at the end of the walkway.
She didn’t say anything. She just gave me a big hug. I could tell by the way she hugged me that she was proud. As much as I wanted to speak, my throat hurt too bad to talk. I was still breathing super hard.
A bunch of people came up and congratulated me. I didn’t blur them out this time. I wanted to hear how good I did.
It didn’t seem real to me. It felt like I was dreaming. Out of 150 girls, I was the best. I beat all of them.
“I won,” I thought. “I did it. I really won.”
I sat down to take my shoes off. Then came the pain, the soreness of simply untying my shoes like I had learned at an early age, the pain of pulling them off my feet. Everything hurt, terribly.
Yet, through all the pain, I realized something at that moment: The pain will only last for a short time, while the memory will last a lifetime.
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Winning the Eagle Classic was just one of Abby Fleetwood’s accomplishments this season.
Fleetwood ran a 10:56 in that race, which broke a school record that she set last year in her first season of cross-country, family members said.
She went on to win the Brown County Invitational, the Tri-North Invitational and the Shelbyville Golden Bear Classic for the second year in a row. Then, to finish the season off, she won the Western Indiana Conference championship. She was named Most Valuable Runner by her coaches, Matt Williams and Chasity Smith.
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