The Save

Instantly Casey raised her hand, she feared she had made an awful mistake.

“OK,” Coach said. “Casey will be goalie (守门员) in the fourth quarter.”

Casey nodded uneasily. She had just joined the Eagles. Now she had volunteered to be goalie, a position that required confidence, which she lacked.

Casey swallowed hard when taking her turn in front of the goal for pre game warm-ups. The goal suddenly looked as big as a movie screen.

When Casey jogged over to her dad near the sidelines, she said quietly, “I cannot do it.”, blinking back tears. “Sure you can,” Dad encouraged her. “Just keep your head up and be aggressive (好斗的). You might surprise yourself.”

The game kicked off and Casey’s teammates scored three quick goals. Clearly, they were the better team mostly because their opponents’ best player was at a piano recital (演奏会). At halftime the Eagles led, 4 to 0. But then she noticed the Comets’ star, number 25 racing toward the field. The piano recital had ended.

Number 25 was flashing across the field, dribbling (带球) past defenders. She zipped past several players and kicked the ball hard into the goal. It was 4 to 1. Two minutes later, number 25 intercepted (拦截) a pass and weaved down (穿行) the field, controlling the ball as if it were tied to her foot. She scored again. It was 4 to 2.

Casey felt her stomach tighten. Soon she would be the one helplessly guarding the goal.

The whistle went. Number 25 scored a third time. The Eagles led by one goal.

“OK, Casey,” Coach said as the Eagles huddled up before the fourth quarter. “You go in goal.”

Casey stood in front of the net. She yelled for her teammates, who were dominating the game again. They hadn’t scored, but Casey hadn’t had to make any saves either. Number 25 appeared to be tired.

Casey’s heart raced whenever the ball came. But each time it was kicked away. Now there were two minutes left. “Hurry up,” Casey thought. “If I never have to touch the ball, we’ll win the game. I’ll never ...”

Suddenly number 25 had the ball and was racing up the side-line.

Casey backed quickly toward the net as number 25 sent another shot.

I clicked the link (点击链接), sign un here. This wouldn’t be my first half marathon (马拉松赛跑); I had run a flat half when I was thirty-eight. But that was eleven years ago. Now, it was November 2022, and I’d had a shoulder injury before, and I was turning fifty. So, as awful as running 13.1 miles seemed, I was going to do it.

I signed up for a women’s training group, a group of strangers with whom I would spend a few months preparing for the race, and then I was directed to sign up for the actual race. I imagined a course somewhere beautiful in Florida. Or perhaps in sunny California, I was shocked when the race website opened, and I was greeted with the words, “Zion at night, half marathon in the darkness.” In Zion? At night? Oh, no.

I looked at the website. Was it to late to quit? Actually, I had just signed up for a coaching group that was meant to “encourage me through running”. Giving up before I even started seemed like a terribly shameful thing to do. I looked through the photos of the race.

I lost all my confidence. Runners wearing headlights and running shoes filled the computer screen. I couldn’t do this, I thought. I hadn’t run on paths in Delaware. I hadn’t run on paths or up hills. I clicked onto the next photo and looked at the happy runners advancing alongside a frightening cliff (峭壁). I was also afraid of heights.

A text came through my phone. It was Nicole, our training group’s brave leader, a woman who has run hundred-mile marathons. This is what happens when you run a race with someone who has strong willpower. “Sign up for the 4 am start time,” she wrote.

As I filled in my name and address, I tried to think about how likely I was to get injured during training. Realistically, that was my best way to get out of this race. I filled out the form and started worrying. About everything.

But Nicole encouraged me, saying that she was with me in spirit on every run.

On the day of the race, we drove to Zion at 4 am.

Chasing a Dream

I will never forget that November day. It was hotter than normal — too hot. My throat felt like a field of cotton, cracked with the summer heat, as I waited for the gun to fire. This was the day we had waited so long for. I looked out at the crowd; dozens of familiar faces flashed across my view. They had come for me. They were counting on me. I saw my dad set his watch, with worry and excitement on his face. Adrenaline (肾上腺素) pumped through my body, and the race began.

For the first two and a half miles, I felt great. I had never before been so ready for something. The weeks leading up to the race were filled with strictly controlled practices and a strict diet. My friends hadn’t seen me in weeks, but they understood the sacrifice required to make my dream a reality.

My dad and I had been working towards this race for three years. It was everything to me, and it was everything to my dad. He was a runner and was excited by my success in running. He made it to every race, even flying home early from business trips to see me run. I always listened for his voice — telling me to relax my arms, calling out my time. He pushed me. He cheered for me. He believed in me. We spent countless hours on the sandy canals. Breathing in the dust of the desert, the blossoms (花簇) of the orange trees, we made our way across the city. We pounded miles and miles into our running shoes, marking with every step the path to greatness.

But without warning, when I was 200 yards away from the finish line, my legs stopped working. My lungs fought to take in enough air, and my feet transformed into cement (水泥) bricks. I still don’t know what happened in those last few moments. Nothing I could do would make them hold my weight. They were as weak as jelly.

Even though I knew my dreams of victory were destroyed, I had to finish the race.

“I’m so sorry I disappointed you,” I whispered to Dad.

When I entered my first rodeo (牛仔竞技比赛), I was 12 years old. It was more like a play day than a rodeo, but to a 12-year-old girl like me, I felt like I was at the National Finals Rodeo!

As to barrel racing (绕桶赛), I didn’t know much about it, only what my dad had told me. But I had been determined to enter the play and win the play ever since I was told that my not so much older competitive cousin Courtney would be there. This was my night to finally show her that I could ride a horse just as good or better, and do anything else she could do. She was in for a surprise!

Courtney always thought she was better than me. She always said her horse was better than mine, too. Courtney had a Palomino horse named Buck. He was fast, and beautiful. My horse was a big Appaloosa named Zipper. He wasn’t beautiful or flashy like Buck but he was kind and willing to please the skinny little girl that fed him sugars every day after a day of riding. That was the reason I knew we could beat Courtney, because we had something she didn’t — a partnership, one we both respected.

Courtney and I were in the 12-14 age group. As I watched the men in the arena (竞技场) set the three barrels up in their places, I felt nervous and a little scared for the first time that night. Though I had previously practiced a lot with Zipper, and Zipper raced fast and made turns stably, I still got upset when thinking about racing against Courtney!

I closed my eyes, taking a deep breath. Suddenly, I felt a warm familiar hand on my shoulder. It was Dad. He smiled at me, saying, “Are you scared or nervous? Or both?” “Both, but I’m more scared that I’m going to mess up,” I replied, truthfully.

“You won’t. Just have faith in yourself, and Zipper,” Dad said.

Game over, I took Zipper to rest, giving him sugars for a job well done.

High-school sports were about the biggest thing that happened in the town of Verden. And sports were important in Lauren Wray’s family. Both of Lauren’s brothers were high-school athletes. Like others, she longed to be on the basketball team too. But the special point was, she had Down syndrome (唐氏综合症).

Mr. Wray and his wife never told Lauren that she was different. They treated her like their other children. They didn’t want her to feel disabled or different.

One day, for the extreme love of playing basketball, Lauren ran to her father and announced with great excitement. “I’m gonna play basketball. Daddy. I am joining the girls’ high-school basketball team.” Hearing that, Mrs. Wray and Mr. Wray were too surprised to believe what their daughter said. Lauren’s reflexes (反应能力) were slow. They knew how hard and unbelievable it would be for her to play basketball, let alone to be on the basketball team. But they decided to stand by her.

The next afternoon. Mr. Wray parked in front of the school gym. Inside, Coach Forsythe saw Mr. Wray, and he said, “I am glad Lauren came out for the team.” Lauren stood alone at the other end of the basketball court, shooting free throws. Other girls played together on the other side. After every shot, Lauren excitedly shouted, “Woo hoo !” At first, Lauren was in high spirits and so energetic. But things didn’t go smoothly. Her disability made her so clumsy (笨拙的) in the field. Having not made the basket for a long time, she was so discouraged. She gained nothing from the first training.

Paragraph 1: Later that night, Mr. Wray found Lauren lay on the couch, downhearted.

Paragraph 2: Mid November, the season’s first basketball game arrived.

I had always dreamed of winning the school marathon. Ever since I joined the running team in freshman year, I had trained hard to improve my speed. I knew it wouldn’t be easy. There were many strong runners in my grade, and some of them had more experience and skills than me.

The day of the race finally came. I was nervous but excited. I put on my running shoes and headed to the starting line. I saw my competitors, some of them looking confident, some of them looking worried. I tried to relax myself and pay attention to my own running. The coach gave us some last-minute advice and encouragement. He told us to do our best and not give up.

The whistle (哨子) blew and we were off. I rushed ahead, trying to get a good position. I felt the wind in my face. I heard the cheers of the crowd (人群) and the footsteps of the other runners. I kept running, pushing myself to do my best.

After running for a while, I realized that I was in the lead. I couldn’t believe it. I had never been in this situation before. But then I also felt a sense of fear. What if I couldn’t keep it up? What if someone caught up with me? What if I fell?

I tried to shake off these negative thoughts and pay attention to the finish line. But it was getting harder and harder. My legs were burning and my heart was pounding. I thought that I had lost the race. I thought that I had let myself down and everyone who supported me. I felt like giving up.

I am not good at sports. In high school, for example, I joined the soccer team for a year-and even when my team was losing 9-0, the coach still kept me on the bench (坐在替补席).

However, I once won a medal, which I’ve kept on my desk till today, in the New York City Marathon (马拉松) — a long running race of about 42 kilometers. It’s not a gold medal that I can show off to others proudly. I kept it there because it reminds me that every big goal can always be broken down into individual steps. And when you gather enough steps, you’ll make it to the finish line. Step by step, you can make what seems impossible possible.

It was in 2010 that I entered for the New York City Marathon. I’d never run a marathon before. I’d never even run 5 km. So why did I do this? Because I needed a big goal. Caught up in a difficult stage of life, I wanted something to work for, to prove that I could achieve something. So I entered for the preliminary (预赛) the running race by which a small number of people are chosen to enter the marathon. Most people worked for years to qualify (有资格). Me? Somehow, my name was drawn. I was in, yet I was nervous, wondering how to make it to the finish line.