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Cross-Country Story
Cross-Country should really have its own section, by the way!
Here's my story, let me know what you think!
If you’re not from cross-country, you don’t know tired. Once you stop, there is no way you can start again. At the end of each race you collapse in a heap, preferably in a shady area, every last drop of energy sucked from your body.
You say you’ve been thirsty? You can’t know thirsty. After each practice your mouth is like an ancient riverbed, long devoid of any moisture. The first drops of water taste like the sweetest nectar to your rough parched tongue.
If you’re not from cross-country you can’t know endurance. The stamina you exhibit everyday through miles of running. And you still come back tomorrow, knowing it will be just as hard, if not worse then today.
You say you’ve been hot? You’ve never been hot. The beads of sweat collecting through your soaked uniform, your hair plastered to your face. The merciless sun trying to break you for the duration of your race.
If you’re not from cross-country, you’ve never seen short-shorts. They crawl up your legs and expose your farmers’ tan. And if your boxers don’t match the sleek maroon shorts, then that would be bad, for they are on display for all the world to see. I suggest to all you cross-country boys, that you wear whitey-tighteys for the good of the group.
You say you’ve been cold? You’ve never been cold. The wistful look you give your sweat pants before setting them to the side and stepping up to the starting line. How you shiver and shake, and hug all your friends, trying to stay warm until the gun goes off.
If you’re not from cross-country you don’t know victory. The suspenseful moments as the schools are read, from last to first. As soon as the second place school is read, ecstatic shouts of joy are heard, drowning out the champions’ school. We proudly flaunt our gold medals for all the world to see.
If you’re not from cross-country, you’ve never seen an after-party. We overflow Colonial, our traditional gathering spot. We crowd the booths and clink our glasses full of ice cream, crawl under tables to get the best seats, and hastily try to calculate the tip for our table of twenty before realizing it is included in the bill.
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| Average Grade: A |
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