If there's any moment in my life I look forward to, it's Tuesday, five to seven o' clock, at the field outside the Anakella University Athletics and Recreation Center.

My dad will yell at me to hurry up, at around four-thirty, though of course I won't be even halfway done with my homework. I don't protest, though, who would? I'll leap from my seat and dash to the closet, where the musty mildew of threads and rain will make me suck in a breath as I grab my old, faded, once blue hoodie and my favorite pair of Adidas. Quickly, I'll pull them on, then race to the car, snatch the door handle, tug it open, and fall into my seat, tapping the armrest impatiently. By now, Dad won't be shouting at me to hustle. Most often, I'm the one screaming at him. I can't help it. The moment those sneakers slip on to my feet, every nerve in my body is charged with excitement.

Our green Volkswagen Jetta bounces along the bumpy trail through the thin, tall wood, shaded by leaves that in Autumn change colors but never seem to fall. I'll be frantically scanning the trees, thinking arewethereyet arewethereyet arewethereyet? But I'm still startled every time Dad pulls into the bleak, grey lot that to me, could not look more exhilarating.

I'll give Dad a quick goodbye, and bolt from the car faster than I would have if it were about to explode. My feet come slapping up the big hill that all of us runners call "Heartbreak Hill," and as soon as the vast track field comes into sight, I scream my greetings. My teammates are usually scattered around the field, warming up, but no matter what he's doing, my friend Jaime will stop, mid-run, and come over to give me a tight hug. Unlike me, Jaime loves hugs. He's my best friend in the world, besides one person.

Kaitlyn Cabeleeri, however, is always late. As in, always. I'll have finished up my eight laps when she comes dashing up the field, her curly black hair streaked with gold flying in a ponytail behind her. "Hey!" She'll call out, and races to meet us. Jaime will run forward and wrap her in a fierce hug, identical to the one he gives me. Meanwhile, Kaitlyn and I will look at each other, then, at the same moment, burst out laughing and running towards each other, high-fiving and saying hello. Amazing how much you miss someone going a week without seeing them. "White Rabbit!" I call her, referring to the character from her favorite fairy tale, Alice's Adventures in Wonderland. She is about as punctual as he is.

Then our coach, Roberto, will yell at us to stop fooling around and line up behind a long, white streak on one side of the field. But he's not being serious. No one fools around more than Roberto. Instead of warming up, he will play Pokémon Go before seeing that we've all arrived. When he tells us we're being immature, there is a smirk on his face and a picture of Pikachu on his signature cap. I swear, the man's obsessed!

"Take position!" He'll say, and so we will. I'll bend my knees slightly, placing one leg behind the other and hunching my arms at my sides.

"Get set!" He'll form his fingers into an imaginary gun, like the ones they shoot at real races. This gesture always makes me smile, though I know we're all wishing that he would someday bring a real gun.

I'll steal a quick glance at the other runners, and feel a spark of determination inside my chest ignite into a bonfire.

                                                                                    "GO!"

I'll leap into action, my legs pumping, my arms banging back and forth, the impact of my feet hitting the ground, vibrating through my entire body again and again. The cool wind blows across my face and lifts my hair, and my face stretches into a smile. 

And suddenly, the world fades. I forget why I am here, my destination, the competition, everything bad that I face while I'm not here. I am leaping, speeding like a race car, flying like a falcon, light and wind and spirit itself! I'm no longer Brooke Ellis, the girl who feels like her world is falling apart. I am free.