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I take my place on the track and get into starting position. I close my eyes and try to calm the excited beast inside me. The seconds feel like minutes. I hear the gunshot and quickly opened my eyes. I push off the ground as hard as can and start to run. I know that family is cheering for me, but I can't hear them. All I hear is my steady breathing and my heartbeat. It's just me and the track. Everything else is a blur; doesn't exist. My feet are not touching the ground and instead of running, I'm flying. I feel light as a feather, like I could just float up into the sky like a balloon. I see the finish line and I muster every ounce of strength I have left. I give one hundred and ten percent of my heart into my legs and feet. My adrenaline kicks in and I soar down the track, going two hundred miles an hour. I close my eyes and feel the ribbon cut across me. When I finally open my eyes, I'm wearing a first place medal around my neck. Even though I got in first place, I didn't run for the feeling of winning. I ran simply for the feeling of running. It's that pure feeling that keeps me alive.
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