Five Hundred Meters

Five hundred meters left to paddle,
Stretches like a thousand miles before me.
My double-bladed black paddle goes deep,
Propelling my slim craft forward.
Drops splash up and fall like confetti,
Sweat and salt water fuse to my back.
The noon sunlight glances off the water,
Blinding me.
Aching muscles pumping harder,
Pushing onward, forward, trying to catch up.
Paddle pounding on the water like a jackhammer on shattered concrete.
A final effort,
And the honk of an air horn sounds.
Race over.
My limbs tingle as the blood flows out of them.
I look around,
Hearing shrill cries from the beach.
A strained smile, I’m filled with joy.
Second-to-last place.

by Connor Wakayama
10th Grade, University Laboratory School