Free Not Pretty Enough by Jaimie Admans Page A

give this a go too? I
suppose if the worst comes to the worst I can pull out half way round and look
like an idiot in front of the whole school.
    If I even make it half way.
    No. Stop doubting.
    I can do this.
    I think.
    I mean, it’s not like I’ve ever
tried to run four hundred metres before. It’s not like I’ve ever tried to run
anywhere before, other than that time the Welsh teacher didn’t hear the buzzer
go and we all nearly missed our buses home.
    Mr Hursh blows his whistle and
everybody in the field turns to look at him.
    “Four hundred metres: groups
one, two, and three, minus five minutes. Line up please!” He yells at the top
of his voice. He will never require the use of a loudspeaker.
    “Oh, bollocks,” I say to Debs.
“I haven’t done any warm ups.”
    “Chess, no offence, but I don’t
think warm ups will help you here. I don’t think anything will help you here.”
    “Thanks for the vote of
confidence.”
    “You’re welcome, I’ll be
cheering for you.”
    “Thanks, wish me luck.”
    “Good luck.”
    I start to make my way down the
bank we’re sitting on.
    “Oh, and Chessie?”
    I turn around and Debs chucks
her bottle of water at me. “I think you might need this.”
    I thank her and get into line
quickly with the other five runners in our group. Lloyd is on the end, then
Darren, then two boys I don’t know, then Laurie, a girl from our form, and I’m
on the other end. I wave at Lloyd overconfidently.
    “I thought you were doing
something else,” he yells across the heads between us.
    “I thought I’d give this a shot
instead,” I call back.
    “I didn’t know you ran.”
    “Enough to get by,” I say. What
the hell is that? Enough to get by ? He might as
well have asked me if I knew any Spanish.
    He nods somewhat uncertainly,
like he’s not sure whether I’m pulling his leg or not.
    “Well, good luck,” I call.
    “You too.”
    I notice that the other five in
this group and the six in the group in front of us are sort of working
themselves up by jogging on the spot and shaking their arms around. In fact,
I’m the only one standing dead still and wishing it was lunchtime already.
    I could really use a flapjack.
    I decide to try a little jogging
on the spot, but then I think better of it. They’re all just wasting energy. If
I reserve mine for the actual race, I will probably do better than them.
    Maybe.
    Mr Hursh blows his whistle and
the first group set off.
    Wow. They’re fast. They’re like
greyhounds on a racetrack.
    I don’t think I can run like
that.
    I’d be more like a hippopotamus
on a racetrack.
    “Three minutes,” the teacher
yells at us as we move up to the starting positions.
    I wonder if we should crouch
down and set off like real runners do on the TV, but Lloyd and the others are
just hanging around waiting. I decide to follow their lead. I don’t want to
look like a complete amateur, after all.
    “I thought you and Deborah were
doing the least athletic events today,” Laurie says to me.
    “I thought I’d give this a go.
You’ve gotta try new things once in a while, right?”
    I just wish that ‘once in a
while’ wasn’t in twenty-something degree heat, and that ‘new things’ was more
along the lines of a hairstyle or bronzing powder.
    I wave at Debs, who has been
joined by Ewan on the bank.
    God, it looks comfortable up
there.
    Not like down here where you are
surrounded by sweaty people and a miserable teacher.
    “Group two, line up. Minus sixty
seconds,” Mr Hursh yells.
    Oh crap.
    I don’t think this was the
brightest idea after all.
    I suppose I am kind of unfit.
    Well, I think I am. It’s not
like I ever do any exercise to find out whether I’m unfit or not. I guess we’ll
know soon enough.
    Mr Hursh blows his whistle.
“Thirty seconds. Get ready.”
    The whistle blows again.
    We’re off.
    Oh crap.
    Crikey, the others are fast.
    “Clemenfield, I said GO!” Mr
Hursh yells.
    Oops.
    I start running too.
    Oh, this isn’t so bad.