Today is the first Tuesday of the month. I guess it is a day for firsts, because it is also my first mile. It’s such a beautiful day, with birds chirping and thin beams of sunshine flitting through the clouds. Early October is one of the most beautiful times of the year. The ground is littered with hundreds of leaves, all different colorful shades of red, orange, yellow, and green. The thermometer is just balancing between 69° and 70° F. My coach walks toward my class and says the words I’ve been dreading since the beginning of third grade, “Today is your first mile of the year! It’s going to be so fun!” He says it with such enthusiasm that I almost believe him.

Coach tells us to walk to the water fountains, which will be our imaginary start and finish line. Some people run, but most of the girls are walking. I’m so nervous, even though it is just a mile. My 12 year old sister has always been the athletic one in my family. In fact she is so tall and athletic that she made it into the basketball team. She has a mile time of 7:02, which is in the top ten mile times of her PE class. I am not so athletic and I run way slower than her. Whenever we race to someplace, whether it’s to the end of the street or to the car or even just a 20-30 foot sprint, she always beats me. I always blame her longs legs that she can run faster than me, but I know that the real reason is because I am slow.

I reach the “start line”, and line up behind it. Of course, some of the boys are standing in front of the line because they think it will make a difference to their mile time. On the outside, I look cool as a cucumber, but on the inside, I’m panicking. What will happen when he says go? Coach yells, “Ready… Set… GOOOOO!” I run, my mind in too much of a frenzy to think to pace myself. The air is so sweet smelling, and I slowly relax. The first minute is bliss, my lungs full of air, and the world beneath my feet. I feel like I can do anything. I’m already halfway through my first lap, and I don’t feel tired one bit. Then, in a matter of seconds, the world seems a lot less sweet smelling, and a lot less blissful. Well, this must mean I’ve finished my first lap.

I pass the coach as he yells, “Come on, keep running! Only three more laps to go!” “Don’t remind me,” I mutter silently as I jog by. I run by a group of girls who were walking and chattering amongst themselves. How can they just not even try! It’s our first mile! I’m so angry now. It’s not fair that I have to try so hard just to get an acceptable time, when those girls, who I know are super-fast, are just walking. I use the anger to propel me forward, and I’m already three-quarters of the way finished with my second lap! Why did I sprint? Now I’m so tired, I can’t think properly. The only good thing is I’m done with my second lap. Two laps down, two more to go.

I pass by Coach again, and this time, I run by him, determined to stay focused on the track. Whenever I watch the track as I run, it feels as if I am staying in one place and the world is moving beneath my feet. I grow wearier by the second. All I want to do right now is lay down on the grass and sleep, but for some strange reason, I feel that if I do sleep, I will never wake up; I’ll just sleep for infinity. That wouldn’t be so bad right now, I think to myself. I huff and puff and wheeze my way forward. When is this torture going to end? I can’t do this, it’s too hard. I feel as if I can’t move one more step without falling. I almost stop, almost. But then I think, do I really want to remember my first mile as the time I gave up? No, I can’t stop now. I’m almost to the end of my third lap. I can do this. I can. Last lap, here I come.

Coach has stopped cheering us on, letting us focus on our last lap. He only says one thing as we pass, “Sprint the last stretch! It will help you!” I jog by him, by the water fountain. Oh, water, how I never ever thought I would be so desperate for you. Great, now I’m talking to water. My throat is so parched, it hurts when I swallow. I run wildly, my hands and legs pumping. For some weird reason, the muscles in my arms are hurting more than the muscles in my legs. I guess it’s because I’m swinging them so hard; it’s as if I’m having a boxing match with the air. I want to scream, but I doubt I would be able to scream very well with my parched throat. I’m finally at the halfway point of my last lap. I can’t even be excited at this point because I am so tired! The finish line seems so far away. I look across the field and see a good portion of my class already sitting down on the grass and by the water fountains. I am sort of discouraged by this, but, in a way, it helps me run faster. I can at least not be too far behind them. Finally, I’ve come to the last stretch. It all comes down to this. Some of my faster friends who have already finished cheer me on. “Come on! Only a little bit left! Run!” I try to sprint, like Coach told us, but I don’t think I have it in me. It would feel so good right now just to stop and walk the rest. You didn’t come all this way just to walk. My mind is telling me the right thing to do, but my body just can’t do it. I falter, stopping for just a second, when I start sprinting like there’s no tomorrow. I can’t give up. Ever.

5. 4. 3. 2. 1. I’m done. Done. It feels like hours have passed since I started my very first lap. Coach tells me I got a mile time of 9:20. I’m kind of disappointed, but I’m too tired to care right now. I make a beeline for the water fountain, gasping hard. I have to wait for two people to finish drinking, but I feel that if I don’t get water right now, I’m going to die. I count the ten seconds each person gets, and then, I finally get the water I've been so desperate for. It tastes like the sweetest, most amazing liquid I have ever had, and I treasure every second I have it, gulping down as much as I can. Then someone pulls me out of my daze with a loud, “You’re time’s up!” Grudgingly, I move away from the water fountain. I go join my friends on the grass. They congratulate me on finishing my mile and I congratulate them too. I fall onto the grass, laying down and staring at the sky.

I can feel my heart beating inside of me; I don’t even have to touch it to know that it is beating so very fast. As I stare into the fluffs and swirls of the clouds, I feel my heart slow down. I’m so glad I didn't give up back then, during the third lap, or at the end. If I did, I would never have felt this accomplished. I still can’t believe I did it. I finished my first mile.