Personal Narrative-Swim

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Around two years ago, when I was just a young swimmer , my coach asked my swimming group what a swim meet was. The reply came back with some confused looks and the rare nod of a head. She then told us what a meet was. I then told my parents about this new type of competition, they signed me up and brought me to a strange place, leading me to where I am now, with legs trembling and about two and a half feet above the ominously still pool on a white platform.
As I stare at the water, it stares right back at me, almost jeering at me. From the height of the block, the black tile that runs down the center of every lane appears to me as a runway, marking a path straight through to the other side. In just a few seconds, I will be descending that runway propelled
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Right now it is set at 0:00, chaining the great march of time. The clock does not like to be stopped, and once it is released with a beep, it does not want to stop its advance.. Somehow, the clock has talked the pool into being its partner in crime, and they are both against me. The announcement came stating: "This is the 50 yard freestyle. Swimmers, take your mark." As everyone on the platforms tenses, a sharp, resonating beep sounds. My body releases, my legs exploding from their coiled position. My head darts up, my eyes searching for the imaginary hole I am going to slide my body through. Once I find it, my head is tucked between my arms, and my hands and arms stiffen to prepare for the entry into the water. As the water recoils from the sudden intrusion, I use the momentum to launch myself forward. Then, I get a mouthful of water. As I emerged spluttering, I spot the competition way ahead of me, steamrolling through the water. I proceeded to dash through the wall of water as if there was a shark behind me. As I approach the turn to hurtle back to my starting point, I pulled a little too
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