That Saturday morning wasn’t any different than the rest; getting up at five in the morning to board the school bus at the high school and leaving for the track meet. I sat next to my best friend; we both were excited to race against our rival high school.

When we arrived, it was almost time for the field events, which I didn’t participate in. I ran mid distance. I was the fastest girl mid distance runner on the team.

Two hours later, it came around to my first event. The open 800 wasn’t my best race, but not my worst either.

There was only one heat, and I was in lane five, one of the worst lanes I could possibly be in. I looked over at my coach, and then at my friend, not paying attention to my surroundings. Then the gun fired, and already I was off to a bad start. There were two girls behind me and seven in front of me. I began to sprint ahead, faster, and faster, putting myself in second. The girl ahead of me ran faster as I caught up to her. I stayed right behind her as long as I could. The last 400 meters, I sprinted ahead, my ponytail blowing back into her face. I finished at 2:04:17, my best time this season. The girl behind me glared, she finished twenty seconds after me.

My coach congratulated me, telling me that I broke the old record that I had set, in our high school. All the girls on my team crowed about how I would be an Olympic runner someday if I kept improving.

After my cool down run, I was able to rest a little before my second and last event, the 1600. I had set a record for that race too, and I was determined to break it.

“First call for girls, 1600 meter run!” the announcer called. I went to go check in and then did a few striders. “Second call for girls, 1600 meter run!” the announcer called again. I followed the other girls to go line up.

I took off my sweats quickly and lined up. I waited for the gun. When it went off, I sprinted ahead to take my lead; the closest girl to me was about 100 meters behind me. Swiftly I slowed down, but not enough to lose my place. On the second lap, the girl behind me had slowed down greatly. The third lap, I kept my pace. Then on my last lap, I increased my speed each 100 meters until I finished. After I crossed the finish line I looked at how far back the other girls were. I asked my coach what my time was. It was 4:22:41. I had broken my record by eleven seconds.

After I took off my spikes, I went over to my coach who congratulated me again and said that he didn’t know what he would do when I graduated next year.

A few hours later, the meet concluded. The whole team gathered up their belongings and got onto the bus. I sat across from my friend again and she attempted to talk to me, but I was too exhausted. So I went to sleep.

When I woke up, there was a car that was swerving along the road. The car drove right into the bus, speeding by at least 30mph. Then, before anyone could take action, the bus flipped over and into the ditch. I got tossed around a few times and felt an excruciating pain in my leg. I tried to crawl away, but my leg was stuck under something. I yelled over and over. Then, I looked over at my friend, who was lying face down in the rubble. She didn’t respond. I tried not to think that she was gone. Even though I knew it was probably true. Then, I passed out.

When I woke up, I was in a hospital bed. I looked around the room at my parents. My leg had a huge incision in it and I had needed a skin graft. I wouldn’t be able to run on my leg for another six months. And by then, the school year would be over. I would have to wait until next season. I asked for my friend. They told me she had died along with two other runners. I didn’t feel like running anymore, not that I could run anyway.

Over the next few days, I got sent cards. I didn’t read most of them. I didn’t feel like reading them. I was in and out of surgeries constantly and when I had spare time, I just sat there. I felt sorry for myself. I wished my arm could have been hurt and not my leg.

The second week, my coach came to visit. He said he had found someone to run for me, until I could come back to run again. After he left, I was furious, furious that someone was replacing me.

Finally, after one more week, I was released from the hospital. I had to come back in two days though, so they could check my leg again.

When I got home, one of my friends was there. She was wearing shorts and I stared enviously at her perfect leg. She blushed.

She told me all of the things going on at school and then showed me all the classwork and homework I had to make up. There was a huge pile, almost half my size. My friend told me she would try her best to help me. Then she began to ask when I was coming to school and if I would go tomorrow because it would be a half day. I said no. But my mom interrupted and answered for me.

Early that next morning, the dreaded moment had come. My mom ran into my room happily to wake me up. I groaned and rolled out of bed. My leg looked terrible so I carefully and slowly put on pants even though it was eighty degrees outside. I hobbled onto my crutches and went to the bathroom to brush my hair. Going down the stairs was a struggle as was getting into my friend’s car.

When I arrived at school, many stared at my leg; others didn’t even look at me. It made me feel self-conscious. I didn’t feel truly welcomed until I saw my team again. They all hugged me and asked how my leg was. Nobody talked about the accident.

After four weeks of going to school and having regular checkups on my leg, I began to realize how lucky I was to not lose my life. Even though my leg was damaged and would never appear the same.

When school ended and summer break started, my coach called me. I hadn’t decided on a college yet, previously, before the accident, I had thought I would get a scholarship for my accomplishments on running. But now, I thought it seemed hopeless. He told me that there were six colleges that had seen videos of me running on YouTube. They had contacted my coach, and they wanted me to run for them next summer when I graduated. However, they had added, only if, I could run at my record time, consistently.

I hadn’t run in months, I had recently gotten off of my crutches and was still wobbly with walking. But my coach told me that he would even help me train. The rest of my team agreed to help as well. After much confidence that was given to me by my team and coach. I agreed to run again.

The next week, my coach took me to the gym where we began to lift weights to help strengthen my legs again. The week after that, we went to the high school pool where he had me swim laps. Finally, the third week, he had me get back onto the track. When I began to run again, I felt free and relaxed. After that, we began to have a schedule, every morning and after school, I was constantly working out.

Eventually, by the end of the summer, I had gotten my 800 time to 2:21 and my 1600 to 4:30. But the times weren’t good enough. I began to work out more, pushing myself harder.

Then, the high school track season came around. My coach wouldn’t have me run until the last meet. He wanted to “save me”. So I watched the team run, every single track meet.

Finally, the last meet had arrived. I was the last one onto the bus. I hadn’t been on a bus since the accident. I shook until I took my seat. When the bus started moving, I began to hyperventilate. I wondered why everyone else was acting normal, and then I realized they had been to many meets since the accident.

When the bus stopped, I was the first one off. I paced around for hours until the meet started and it was time for me to race.

I was only running a 1600, as it was my best race. When I got lined up, I waited anxiously for the gun, and then remembered, I had been training for this the whole year. I glanced at my coach who was videotaping the race to send to the college coaches.

I took a deep breath. And the gun went off.