My teammates and I inhale the fragrance of cross-country: freshly-mown grass accompanied by a gentle, humid breeze.
I inhale deeply, acknowledging that my breathing will eventually transform into panting and gasping for another kick of exhilaration.
I am conscious of my surroundings and soak in the radiance that the sun provides, knowing that it will follow me through every turnover, every stride, every sprint to the finish-line.
The heart inside my chest craves the sight of Hayfield Secondary, the school for which I run.
We course through the streets of Alexandria which bare the essence of school spirit.
The breeze that rushes through our hair lets us imagine that the members of this community are all supporting us.
We maintain the aura of productiveness in this beautiful city.
Our running is a dance, a celebration of all the feats our bodies can accomplish.
The short shorts we wear conform to running culture, as they bounce around our waists, perfectly in-tune with our choreographed strides.
Cross-country mornings are a time to rejoice and expand the illusive limits of our bodies, while sandwiching laughs in between breathless expressions of encouragement.
We are a team, a collection of homes that are resilient to the exhaust-and-repair routine of running.
We break, remodel, and rebuild each room, making it sturdier and capable of handling more force.
This team embraces the blessing of rising each day, excited to greet yet another cross-country morning.