“Nine and ten please come to the starting line,”
calls the referee.
“Are you ready?”
my dad asks.
“I think so,”
I say, jumpy.

Standing at the starting line,
the referee raises his starter’s pistol.

Shivering,
scared
at the sight
of the gun-like
starter’s pistol.

Its boom, like a gun;
its shape, like a gun,
near or far.

BOOM!!
With a jump,
everyone sprints
down the course.

I run the course, up a hill.
Keep going, keep going.
You’re almost
to the finish line.

I run the course, around a bend.
Maybe around this bend
is the finish line.

I look, desperately,
for the finish line,
up ahead.

There it is!
Relief fills me
as I sprint
as hard as I can,
as fast as
a cheetah chasing its prey!

I cross the finish line,
drenched in sweat
like an Olympic swimmer
emerging from a pool.

“Great job!”
my dad yells,
with a wide smile on his face.