Kerry was determined to win the race, no matter what anyone said.
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Kerry knew she could win. She trained every chance she could. The specialist told her she would never be able to run again. In ten minutes she was going to prove them wrong. She felt great. This was the one-hundred-yard dash, her specialty.
The timekeeper stepped up on the starting platform. Kerry shook out her arms and legs. She concentrated on picturing the finish line, on her finishing ahead of everyone else. “Runners take your mark!” Kerry stepped up to the line and got into position. The whistle blew.
Kerry took off. Time slowed. She was running. She could feel the track under her feet as her shoes hit the asphalt. She could feel the wind in her hair. She could feel her lungs taking in air. She could feel the sun on her face. She could hear the crowd cheering. Her name floating to her on the breeze. There was the line. Kerry pumped her legs harder. The tape broke across her chest. She had done it. She had won. Kerry turned and threw her hands up in the air.
“Kerry,” she heard a voice calling from the distance. “Kerry. It’s time to get up.” Her mother’s voice broke into her brain. Kerry opened her eyes and stared at the ceiling. Slowly she turned her head and saw her wheelchair beside her bed. One tear slid down her cheek. She had been dreaming.