Winning the Race

Winning the Race

         I’m a really average person. Don’t get me wrong; I try not to make a habit of constantly putting myself down, just stating a fact. My mess of curly auburn hair refuses to obey me, and no matter how long I stay in the sun I don’t tan; I burn, red, like a lobster. I have never been the girl everyone talked about, my grades are pretty good, but I study hard to keep them that way. Art is definitely not my “thing”; I can’t even doodle very well. And I prefer to keep my musical abilities to myself. Trust me, you would want me to keep it that way. Of all the things I’m not very good at, sports is probably the one thing I’m the worst at. I don’t have a throwing arm and couldn’t kick a ball to save my life, but I always could run pretty fast.
          In Germany, I was known as the small American girl in my Grade school. Being scrawny and considered a foreigner made me easy prey for, well, pretty much anyone. And since I was too little to stand up for myself I ran away a lot. In a way, I guess, the bullies taught me how to run fast. So, thanks?
          It was the beginning of fall and all the trees were beginning to change, some with peaks of reds and yellows with bodies of green, others with hues of violet and gold highlighting. The smell of rotting leaves tinting the crisp air. All the students of Lauterbath Grade School were assembled in front of the boring, square, and gray school building. Everyone lined up straight, grouped by his or her class. The occasional gust of wind through the schoolyard made everyone shiver.
          The sport competition was finally over, leaving me relieved. The teacher’s were calling out names and handing out rewards. As if PE wasn’t bad enough, they just had to add to my humiliation by holding a weeklong competition of throwing balls, jumping hurdles, climbing ropes plus whatever other torture they could think of. Germans are very competitive. As always, I had done horribly, I tried; I prided myself in at least trying, even if I did look like a moron. I made it to the top of the rope, but then I couldn’t figure out a way to get down! At least not without completely letting go. Jumping hurdles didn’t go any better. I did mention I was small right? So how on earth did they expect me to jump hurdles that were almost as tall as me? My face met the ground more times then I care to remember.Then my teacher yelled at me when I threw my ball during the far-throw competition, he thought I was trying to be a brat, just because by little ball only went half as far as everyone else's. I yelled back of course, which meant I got to run an extra lap around the nasty smelling pond behind the gymn. But it was worth seeing my PE teacher's face turn purple!
          Most of my schoolmates were eager to find out the results of the nightmare, I on the other hand couldn’t have cared less. After all, the winners would be bragging for weeks, so I would know who had won what soon enough. I just wanted to go back inside my classroom to escape the biting wind.
          Eventually I became numb, the cold wind no longer a bother, as the ceremony continued to drag on and on. I had stopped paying attention after the first 5 minutes and entertained myself with the sight of leaves dancing to the ground. When all of the sudden my best friend elbowed me in the ribs, interrupting a perfectly good daydream. “Du hast gewonnen!” she yelped, telling me I’d won. Before I could ask her what on earth she was talking about, she pushed me out of our row excitedly, toward the teacher doing the awards. The teacher smiled at me a “let’s just get this over with “ kind of smile. He was holding up a brown piece of paper that was almost the same color as his hideous, old-fashioned suit. I walked toward him, still confused. I wondered if maybe he had made a mistake with the names, he’d probably figure it out once I got up there. Then I would have to go back to my row, leaving both of us embarrassed.
          But once I reached him he grabbed my hand and shoved me onto the third step next to two tall boys, who looked as surprised as I felt. The sweating teacher then continued and handed me the ugly brown paper. It was an award certificate. No, it was my award certificate. I stared at it in awe. The paper was no longer ugly; it was beautiful. He said something, he was probably congratulating me, but I was to busy admiring my award to care what he was saying.
          As it turned out, I had won the third place in the 50-meter dash! I, Therese Keller, the ultimate klutz, the girl who had no athletic talent had won! The dark brown paper said so. And I was too cold for it to be dreaming.
The impatient teacher pushed me off the step and I stumbled back to my row. My friend pulled me back into our line and stared over my shoulder at the certificate. Bouncing, we both started to giggle as only two third grade girls can. We ceased the instant our teacher snapped at us, that woman never did seem to be in a good mood.
          The rest of the day I was one of the braggers, rubbing it in as many faces as I could. Especially the boys, I made sure they were fully aware a girl had outrun them. I told anyone who would listen, and a couple who wouldn’t, that I was the third fastest third grader. Even the bullies left me alone that day, probably because I was getting on their nerves. That night my parents let me stay up longer watching TV and I went to bed feeling especially proud of my little self.
          I still have the dark brown award certificate. Though I feel a little silly keeping it, to me it still is very special. That award holds a lot of memories for me, of those horrid competitions, hiding from bullies in the back of the school, but also of the time I spent with my friends.
I never did win again. I’m just the average Jane, and completely content with that. After all the winners have to beat somebody. Doesn’t mean I’m going to make it easy for them though!