To mark Whanau Sports Day that happened today, I decided to post this piece of narrative writing I wrote in 2013. The image is from 2015.
Walking on the greeny grass. It was as sunny as summer. All the house groups (Alamein, Tripoli, Tobruk, Benghazi) were lining up, singing their chants across the field. We all sat in our gazebos of the fields. The wind pushed my face gently. It was like a million people were cheering and screaming. I was a boiling egg, sitting outside the gazebo. 5 year olds went first. Pompoms were all over the pace, tangling peoples feet. I hear a bang. They run like cheetahs through the winds.
Screaming students were sitting in their giant gazebos. It then went on to the 8 year olds. I started to get worried. I kept hearing the clapper go “BANG!” each time people were racing. 9 year olds. My heart was pumping a million times a second, even though I haven’t ran in a race yet. 10 year olds. I started to feel a little bit sick. Then they said, “11 year old boys”.
I lined up, and walked up to the narrow track. My heart was beating as fast as a car. I approach the start line. Then all of a sudden, my mind was blank. I only thought of running straight to th finish line, until a little conversation started. “Who’s your dad?” someone said. BANG went the clapper, and I was running like the wind. The wind in front of me was trying to pull me down, making me slower. I caught up to second. People from Tobruk were like horns, yelling and cheering. I kept running, then for once I came up second.
I went off the hard track, had a ice block stick that said 2nd. I went back to Tobruk, where nearly everyone was as happy as the shining sun. “This is my first race I came second, actually.” I mumbled to Marcus. Then on my next race, I came 4th! Which leaded me to something I have never been in, the FINALS. After, there were two running relay races. I was in one of them. At the end of the day, I was a tired sloth from all the racing.