t me gasping for air, and the screaming pain in my legs caused me to relax slightly, slow down. I saw Sarah’s Mum studying me closely and writing something down. A report. Two more lapses of concentration and I would be disqualified.On the back straight I saw Sarah coming up behind me. I tried desperately to make my legs go faster, to slow my breathing and get back into the rhythm I had generated at the beginning of the race. But nothing worked. By the end of the back straight my lead was gone. I was in second place.A lap and a half later, gasping for air and aching all over from the pain in my legs and chest, I somehow managed to cross the finish line. The rest of the race had passed in a blur of pain, wheezing and dizziness. I had finished in third place, the judges informed me. Sarah was standing by the judges’ table, sipping a water bottle and grinning and laughing with one of the older girls from her club. A couple of minutes later my friend Lisa finished, and we sat together, trying to regain our breath and keep down our lunches at the same time.“Did you beat Sarah?” she asked, panting.“No” was my exhausted reply.After that, I never came close to beating Sarah again. Although I had finished a very respectable third, gained a personal best and finished first out of my club, I still felt incredibly disappointed and almost incompetent. The last I heard of Sarah she was in Perth competing in the world championships for the Walk. A year later I quit Little Aths and found a new Saturday activity – Saturday morning sport, at school. I have not competed in the Walk for 4 years.My Saturdays have always held some sort of special reverence in my mind. They have played host to many memories I sometimes enjoy and sometimes regret, the craft club and Little Aths being just two of them. However, I will never forget how I felt that one particular Saturday, when Sarah Hicks and I put on a ...
