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
Sports
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
A Night for Soccer
It was bitterly cold. Standing by the bench, our team huddled in a group, shivering as we listened to our coach. Gusts of freezing wind blew around us, pelting us with miniscule drops of rain that stung our skin. The moaning of the trees sung in the background. And the sky was dark. I wrapped my hands in my sleeves, waiting as the referee walked up to the semicircle formed by the players. My teeth chattered as he inspected our cleats. I saw my mother on the sideline, wrapped cozily in her overcoat, raising an umbrella to shield her from the rain. She waved, giving me the thumbs-up sign, trying to encourage me. I smiled bleakly, and stomped the ground, trying to find some warmth. The game started at the whistle. It was our last game of the season, and I was determined to end it with a victory. The field was ominous, huddled figures bent over, trying to fight the overpowering wind as they strove to control the ball. I quickly ignored my discomfort. My freezing arms could come later. Right now, it was time to play soccer. I sought for an opening in their defense, immediately attentive. Together, our front line moved in formation, advancing upon their defensive men. We followed the flight of the ball, waiting, like hyenas stalking a herd of zebra. And there was our chance. We pounced, each covering our own man as our striker attacked the ball. The timing was perfect. We quickly gained possession of the ball. I struggled against the wind, running up to join in the attack. Our striker swerved left, dragging two defenders with him. Branching off, our forwards ran up, threatening the opposing defense. The goalie looked nervously at our executed patterns. My breath came in ragged gasps, the cold air stinging my lungs. My lungs. They were burning, yet my legs were still frozen. I forced them to move. We moved in intricate patterns, each looking for the opening and the pass. My shoelaces connected with the ball as it swung in a frenzied arc “Jimmy!” A single word. Jimmy turned and sent off a high cross. Perfect. I ran up with my teammate, zeroing in on the exact spot that the flight of the ball would end. The defender was slow to react, he turned and tried to intercept the pass. But I watched the ball closely as it came spinning down. The ball bounced once, and I saw that I was at the edge of the box. Possibilities sprang into my mind. I was suddenly overcome with indecision. Should I attempt a shot? Or get closer? I saw Jimmy running back from the sideline for a pass. My mom was in the background, yelling support, drowning out all the other people like only moms can do. My mind clicked in the split second it had taken me to assess the situation. I forgot the cold. My lungs relaxed as I focused on the ball. I swung at it hard and low. My shoelaces connected with the ball as it swung in a frenzied arc. The ball shot off, and I turned to watch. The goalie was desperate. He flung himself at the incoming shot, holding his arms high. He missed. The ball was going past his outstretched hands, into the goal… Ping! The metallic sound sang, announcing the verdict. The ball bounced off the crossbar and into the air. The goalie recollected himself and easily caught it. The crowd sounded as one in their disappointment. I shook my head in frustration, then turned to watch my mom. I thought for sure that would have been a goal. My mom smiled brilliantly, mouthing for me to keep trying. My teammates scattered around me patted me on the back, exclaiming their confidence and faith in me. My mood lifted as my teammates’ support soothed my dented ego. Yes, I thought. There were still fifty-nine minutes to go. I looked up at the sky, defying the weather as it continued to buffet around me. Now the darkness and pelting rain only exhilarated me. This was what I lived for. I turned and jogged back a few feet, ready to receive the next probe by the opposition. The cold was suddenly gone. And I was right at home. Andrew Lee, 13DeWitt, New York Erin Wolf, 12Seattle, Washington
