<p>I cannot say that I have enjoyed every moment of my past two years of running for my schools cross-country team. The exhilaration that is present at the start of every run is quickly replaced by a kind of burning weakness. It starts in my body, which can only take so much, until it travels to my head where my will must do all in its power to keep me from succumbing to the pain. I get to a hill that appears impossible to ascend, but it seems that inertia has me pumping my legs all the way to the top of it. I run past a sidewalk where I notice dozens of people in cramped cars busy in their perceived daily ordeals. I see the finish line and make my final sprint to the point where I can collapse with exhaustion and allow the fatigue settle into my bones. Yet, at the end of every race, I feel that there is no other passion that is as simple and rewarding as running. My pain is simply the fuel for the melding of my body and mind, a priceless experience.</p>
<p>Just wrote it and am interested in any helpful criticism</p>