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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.
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Even though I knew my dreams of victory were destroyed, I had to finish the race.
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“I’m so sorry I disappointed you,” I whispered to Dad.
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