ANOTHER POINT OF VIEW
BY MAR
SOPHIE
Again and again I do this.
Again and again I try my best. I force myself to my limits. I grow endurance. I become a better person.
Again and again, I slip on those lucky shoes. I'm second again.
What did I do wrong?
Aren't they supposed to be lucky?
Again and again I try.
But it's so hard.
The material becomes alien. I force myself to adjust. It's not working.
I lose again.
Something's wrong with this. I try day by day, only to feel awkward as if I'm doing this against my will.
I still don't understand. I never run like this when I'm training.
Maybe it's the nerves.
Maybe it's me.
Either way, I have to try harder.
I won't lose.
A couple of days later, I meet this guy.
He's not a stalker, he reassures me. I feel like I can trust him. He looks so sincere that I just can't not.
Something about him is different. He tries to run with me.
Obviously he can't keep up. He's down on the first couple of miles.
Still, I see him every weekend at the races.
It brings me strength.
I won't lose.
My dad gives me a box.
A shoe box, to be precise.
What's that supposed to mean?
A boy told me to give it to you, he says. Maybe he's talking about someone from class?
I peek out of my room window and spot the boy from my runs. Ed, was it?
I open the box, only to find it empty.
Why give me nothing?
I can't wear nothing.
...or can I?
I arrive at the races and ignored the stared on me.
Thanks to him, I'm going to do great.
Thanks to him, I'm going to run for me.
Thanks to him, I'm not going to feel awkward or anything.
I'm going to feel the ground on my toes and the wind in my hair.
I'm not going to lose.
Not while wearing nothing.
