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By: Casey-3 B.
New Jersey, Age 15

''Set. Bang!'' And we're off and running. 250 machines racing at top speed across an open field. I leap towards the front with some other runners. It feels like you're riding on the front of a Mac truck that won't stop. By the mile mark all the pretenders have dropped back and only a few sets of feet can be heard along with my labored breathing. The driving rain that once chilled my bones has let up but the course is still soaked. I fly down a long hill as though I were Mercury himself. Onto the final straightaway I sprint, my legs burning like battery acid leaked onto your hand. But without pain life is too easy...