At this year’s sports meeting, I made a decision to enter for the 3,000-metre race, which I had never attempted before. At first, I was quite irresolute, because I was not confident that I was physically fit enough for the most challenging event. Considering it would be my last chance to participate in a sports meeting in high school, I decided to go all out and try it anyway.

I was not after a prize. Rather my purpose was to challenge myself through this gruelling run. With this attitude, I was under no pressure at all when the race kicked off. The beginning of the race was a breeze. I ran fast, confidently and with ease. As it progressed, however, I started to feel the drag. Each step forward was great exertion. Puffing and panting my way forward, I had difficulty breathing, my face turning hot and red. To my relief, a lot of my friends and classmates were cheering me along the racetrack, and their enthusiastic applause energised me. I pressed on.

At a point during the race, a classmate, Jack, reminded me that it was my last lap on the track before I could finish the race. I was as happy as puzzled. Having made a mental note of the laps I had done, I thought I still had two more to go. Therefore, I asked the friends along the track for confirmation. Some of them told me it was one lap while some said they did not know.

Maybe I had got it wrong. So, I sped up and rushed to the finish line. The moment I breasted the tape, however, a judge at the line ruled that I should still have one more circle to do. All the other runners were still ploughing ahead on the racecourse. I almost collapsed at the verdict. Having used all my energy for the last-minute dash, I was virtually spent. I threw in the towel then and there.

The next moment I regretted. Had I resumed running, I would somehow have managed to finish the race although a prize would have been out of the question. Giving up the race, however, meant I failed to overcome myself. Thus, I let down my friends and supporters. That very thought weighed so much upon me that I broke down in tears on the spot. Jack came over and apologised, but I did not believe it had been his fault.

Looking back on the experience, I realise that I was not as firm as I had thought. It is no use crying over spilt milk, anyway. It is a blessing that the aborted run has taught me to think twice before I give up in future lest I rue it. If I have trouble carrying on with what I have set my mind upon, I will stay the course and go the extra mile.