Sports

Bowl of Strawberries

Jacky kept a steady pace, enjoying the scenery around his neighborhood. His old, worn sneakers kissed the asphalt every time he took a stride. The sun was out, and clouds scattered the sky like the stuffing from a ripped pillow. Jack felt his heart pound in line with his breathing. His legs slowly relaxed as Jack continued on his run. It was good to be alive and moving. As he approached his house, Jack slowed to a jog and stopped on the front lawn. He sat down and stretched, easing the muscle he had just warmed up. The grass felt cool against his thighs. He took a sip from his water bottle, stretched some more, and walked inside. “How was your run, Jack?” Jack’s mother greeted him. “Was it hot out?” “It was fine, Mom.” “Well, it’s nice to know that you’re not wasting this beautiful day.” Jack’s mom had dark brown hair that matched her eyes, with a serious smile that radiated her affection for her kids. Jack plopped down at the kitchen table. Grabbing an apple, he opened the track-and-field magazine his grandfather had given him. It was a collection of a bunch of neat articles about the different events in track and field, tips for staying fit, and how to have a healthy diet. His grandfather had given it to him as a birthday present, knowing that Jack had recently made his school’s track-and-field team. Jacky kept a steady pace, enjoying the scenery around his neighborhood “Hey, Mom? When’s my next meet?” “I wouldn’t know, honey. Why don’t you go check the calendar? I’m sure it’s sometime this week.” Jack smiled. He threw the apple core into the trash and walked to the family calendar, tracing his finger over the paper. “Hmm. My practice on Monday goes until 5:15 this week, Mom. My meet is on Tuesday. You’re all coming, right?” Jack’s mom came into the room, wiping her hands on her kitchen apron. “This Tuesday? I’m sorry, Jack, I forgot to tell you. Grandpa said he wasn’t feeling well these past few days. I have to go stay with Grandpa on Tuesday, but I think your dad might be able to come. I’m sorry about your meet, but your grandpa will have to go some other time.” “What’s wrong with Grandpa?” Jack looked at his mother. “Is he all right?” “Yes. He’s just feeling a little ill. He complains that his ankle hurts more than usual. Why don’t you go visit him after practice tomorrow? You could run there, and I’m sure Grandma will be happy to see you too.” *          *          * “Oh, is that what she said, ill and not feeling well?” Jack’s grandpa chuckled the next day. “I’m as fit as a violin.” When Jack gave his grandpa an odd look his grandpa merely said, “I never really liked fiddles. “I just have to stay in bed for a few days. My doctor said my ankle’s acting up again. Nice of you to come though, Jack.” Jack put his backpack down, relieved at seeing his grandpa so well. “Good to see you too, Grandpa. I’ll have Dad tape our meet for you.” “Your meet on Tuesday? I haven’t forgotten, you know, but I’m sorry I won’t be able to come. But you know what? I used to be on the track-and-field team too, back in high school.” “Really?” Jack looked surprised. “You never told me that, Grandpa.” “ I haven’t now? Didn’t I ever tell you how I busted my ankle?” Jack shook his head no. “Well. It was a very long time ago. My junior year, I think. I had joined the track-and- field team and was as excited as ever for our last meet. Let’s see now. I was doing the long jump and the 400-meter dash. Huh, I never was good at jumping.” Jack’s grandpa sat up higher in his bed. “My baby was definitely the 400-meter dash. Fastest on the team, I think, except for maybe the few seniors that were too lazy to sprint more than 200 meters. I was pumped that day, expecting to break my personal record.” “Did you?” Jack asked. “Well, almost.” His grandpa gave a sigh of disappointment. “I was coming around that last bend for the straightaway when I saw one of the runners from the other school gaining on me. I sprinted as fast as I could, but he kept on getting closer. I was about 50 meters away from the finish line when he closed in to just a pace behind me. Suddenly, I felt something clip my heel, causing my right leg to buckle. I tripped and fell hard onto the track. I tell you, it wasn’t pretty.” “He tripped you?” Jack was indignant. “That guy should have been disqualified!” “No one ever proved anything, and the official wasn’t exactly paying attention,” explained Jack’s grandpa. “Heck, I don’t even know myself. I might’ve tripped myself by accident. But I learned to accept it over time. After all, if life throws mushy apples at you, you can always make applesauce. Anyway, I twisted my ankle and felt a deep pop. Heard it, more like. I didn’t feel the pain until five seconds later, sprawled there on the track. The people had to call 911 for a stretcher to bring me to the emergency room. Well, I could still walk then, but I had to be extremely careful. In my old age now it’s been bothering me more and more. I spend so much time in bed now I wish I could have just finished that last race. If I had kept my lead over that kid and ended the race, I would still be up and walking now.” Jack looked in wonderment at the determined look on his grandpa’s face. “The 400-meter dash? I’m doing that for Tuesday too, Grandpa!” “Really now? Well, good luck, Jack. I wish I could watch, but I’m still expecting great things from you.” His

The Boarder’s Battle

  This would be his last run of the year, and he knew it would be spectacular As the boy dropped down from the icy ski lift and slid down the slope, you could already see the adrenaline pulsing through him like an aura of energy. This would be his last run of the year, and he knew it would be spectacular. As he glided over the snow on his board, he already knew which run he was going to do. With all of the possible choices, his mind was set on one run. The one run he could never do. This run was his enemy, a rival, a foe; he had to overcome the fear. His heart skipped a beat as he whooshed down the slope into the entrance to the run. As he looked down the slope he saw the obstacles, such as trees, rocks, and moguls, that he must overcome. He stopped. There was no going back now, he had to move on. His pulse increased tremendously. His eyes were bigger than his heart. This run was impossible! He had to move on or else he would be stuck on the mountain. He slid down the icy slope. It was getting colder by the second. His toes inside his boots were freezing, his jacket barely protecting him from the chilly winds. Snow started to fall from the sky, the white flakes brushing like a small, soft cloud against the boy’s face. Crystals of frost clouded his goggles, trapping him inside a different world of vision. He gradually picked up speed. The moguls were like jagged mountains shooting out of the ground. The boy slowed down and sliced around them. He was tired, and only halfway done. Fortunately for him, the rest of the slope was decently flat with only a few of the mountain-like moguls along the way. The boy carved and glided through it with extravagant ease. Then on the final stretch the boy wanted a thrill, he was going to try and battle one of the enormous moguls. He had enough speed, he was ready. He crouched down into a jumping position. As he hit the mound he lurched forward and flew three feet off the ground! The boy’s adrenaline surged as he was in the air. He felt free and alone like he had never felt before. It was as if the world had stopped and he kept racing forward. The boy had finished his enemy. He had beaten it. He was satisfied and sad. He started to burst into tears, each drop like a drop of rain falling from his face. He would have to wait another year to feel free and energized. A whole year to challenge the impossible slope again. A whole year, yet he felt satisfied and accomplished that he had met his goal. He stopped crying. The boy said goodbye to the slope and went back into the lodge, ready to head home. Connor Nackley, 12Darien, Connecticut Carly Thaw, 13Charleston, West Virginia

Falling Trees and Riddles

Sabrina had been preparing for this for weeks. The small girl, with the statuesque figure and her hair pulled tightly back into a high ponytail, surrounded by a foil scrunchie, looked radiant in her amethyst team leotard. She sparkled, not so much from the glittery rhinestones sewn to her chest in a waterfall formation going off like a thousand shimmering flashbulbs with every move, but from a genuine smile that poured out, “I am happy to be here. This is my sport.” Her cheerful face and the flame that burned brightly from the depth of her soul could light up any darkened corner. The day of the big meet had finally arrived! Sabrina loved gymnastics from the very first time she entered the gym as a four-year-old. Back then, she was limited to somersaults, but she couldn’t wait to catch up to the bigger, stronger girls who ran in compact, power-packed tumbling passes diagonally across the mat. She loved the meets. Sure, there was a lot of pressure to do well for the team, but pressure aside, the competition made her better than she thought she could be. All the athletes were there, to show off their best skills, and all the hard work they put into the sport. Competition brought out her best. Sabrina loved all the excitement and energy too, particularly at the start of each meet, bursting at the seams with anticipation. She loved hearing the national anthem booming up from the floor and into the stands. She loved standing shoulder-to- shoulder with her teammates, and the invisible, unbreakable bond that linked them together. Reaching back, she kept her focus But soon, all eyes would be on her alone, when it was her turn to mount the balance beam—that four-inch-wide beam that appeared to float high up in the stratosphere among the clouds, although it proved to be only a few feet off the ground. The beam challenged her, looking menacing at times, even staring her down. But Sabrina would not let it get the best of her, not this time. Using her warm-up minutes, Sabrina pirouetted perfectly on top of the beam, managing a full twist with her arms held high. She practiced her scale, elevating her leg in back of her, pulling her arms back into a wing formation, keeping her chest and chin both high. She was confident and ready. No doubt, this is the day she would get her Level 6 back walkover on the beam in competition. This was the only skill she needed which had eluded her. Some of her teammates of course had no problem with the skill, and others, like her, really struggled, needing to work hard at it. Still, she was proud of herself for taking calculated risks, daring to be better, and challenging herself to learn it. When her time came in front of the judges, she would need to bend backwards and kick one leg first, then the other, over her head, hanging for a second upside down, her legs in a mid-air split, then come up again in a lunge to balance herself, keeping both her fears and her poise in check. The no-nonsense green pennant flag swiftly went up, signaling it was her turn. When she saluted the judges, her stomach started flip-flopping wildly. Sabrina wondered if anyone else could hear her heart thumping loudly against her chest wall. First, she managed a first-rate scissor mount onto the beam, pointing her toes into tight arrows. She pictured her mom in the bleachers, holding her breath until she finished the back walkover that had given her so many frustrated practices, the skill that crept into her nightly dreams that seemed too eager to taunt her. This was her moment. Surely, with so much practice and so much coaching, she would do it now. She would taste victory— this time! The moment snuck up on her. The time which held special meaning had arrived, no matter what the clock mounted high on the painted cinder-block wall announced. Sabrina stretched tall with her arms in the air overhead. Now, she thought. She carefully reached backward over her head, searching for that four-inch- wide strip of varnished wood. She found it. She pushed off on her right foot, keeping her eyes fixed upon the string of glaring lights overhead, trying to keep her position in a straight line. But suddenly… oops, she could feel her foothold give way, and she was falling… falling… far down below into a deep, bottomless chasm. It would not be today that her spirits would climb to their summit. Her heart slumped and heaved a heavy sigh. She jumped back on the beam though, quickly, defying gravity, so as not to get another penalty deduction, and then finished up, holding her dismount for the required quantum of time. Her nemesis had won again. “Better luck next time,” she heard her coach mumble as she faced the disappointment pooling in her coach’s bottomless black eyes where she saw herself in endless free fall. But Sabrina’s own sights were set ahead on the horizon. *          *          * After all the shiny medals dangling on thick ribbons had been given out, and with both the tears and thunderous claps now fading back into the background to lurk among the bars and beams, biding their time until their next invitation, Sabrina scanned the floor, hoping the beam was still free. Yesssss, she cheered in her mind. The next session wasn’t about to start for another eight to ten minutes. There was still a chance. The gym was empty. The crowd had poured out lazily with magnetic feet, bottlenecking at the front door, like spilled sticky soda pop, and the new crowd hadn’t been unleashed yet. Some of the conversation fizz was dying down. She knew she only had a little time to get back to work. She could picture her well-intentioned parents already waiting anxiously for her in the car, trying to find some comforting words.