I'd arrived in this school in the middle of its term. It couldn't be helped. My father's life had suddenly taken a sharp U-turn. He had resigned from his job and decided to change tracks in his career,. Our family had to pack up and leave our hometown. It was awful saying goodbye to all my old friends, especially Anu. And now our lives were turned upside down and each one of us was trying to cope with the changed circumstances as best as we could. But there was nothing to be done, except wait and hope that this cloud too would have its silver lining.

My second day in the new school was marked with excitement. Trials were taking place for the inter-school athletics meet. The school teams were to be chosen and finalized. Every house had its favourite for each event. Packets of glucose for last-minute energy boosts had been kept ready for those who were participating.

I sat near the track, shaking my legs to keep off the mid-January chill. And also, I guess, the nervousness. I had come from Calcutta with its warmer climate and was unprepared for the sting of Delhi's chilly winter mornings. I wore a red T-shirt and white shorts; red because I was put into the Red House. But my housemates pretty much ignored me. Not that they were being unfriendly on purpose; just that it was a busy day-a day to back the favourite, not some unknown. I also cursed myself for being stupid enough to volunteer to run the 800-metres race. Deepti told me that I had an impossibly tough race ahead.

'Suvira Mathur of Blue House has never been beaten in this event, not even at the inter-school events. In fact,' she assured me, 'Suvira holds the Delhi inter-school record for 800 metres!'

I eyed the said Ms Mathur. She had long, muscular legs and a true runner's easy stride. She had a friendly face, which flashed smiles to everyone dressed in a blue T-shirt. But when she moved, she was like well-oiled machinery. i tried to shake off my feeling of certain disaster. I had to make a decent go of this. Now that I'd put  myself into this, I may as well give it my best shot. I had won the 800 metres a couple of times in Calcutta. What was the guarantee that Suvira was better and faster than me? Who knows, I could well turn our to be the new heroine of the show. 'Queen of the fast track' or something grand like that;

With such wonderful , fanciful thoughts warming the cockles of my heart, I too got up to rest my old, slightly battered spikes on the new, unfamiliar track. No one cheered me on as I warmed up, doing springs and stretches to force the winter chill out from my bones and muscles. Only the power of positive thinking and me were out there, hand in hand. I stopped to catch my breath and watch the 110 metres hurdles and the high jump poles. I, somehow, had never been able to conquer these two events. But today, I promised myself, I would fly.

And then the 800-metres race was announced. We drew lots for our lanes and I got lane three. I had picked the lane right next to Suvira, who was running in lane four! Not a very auspicious start. A slight tremble shook my dwindling confidence. I admit that, for a fleeting moment, I actually considered feigning a faint right there and then. But I couldn't let myself down that badly, could I? No, I may be a lot of things, but I'm not chicken. 'Come on, come on,' I coaxed my cold limbs as I did another round of quick springs. I had so much to prove and so much to achieve.

You see, not only was I new to the school, but also my family and I had come away from Calcutta in what I viewed as unfortunate circumstances. Suddenly our comfortable lifestyle had vanished. I knew my parents were putting a lot of financial pressure on themselves by admitting me into this good but expensive school. I had to live up to their expectations now, And mine as well.

I would compete wearing my old, battered spikes, since I couldn't afford a new pair. I would wear my old spikes. And I would win. Dear God, I had to win.

'On your marks,' the starter's arm went up. The whole school ground went deathly quiet.

I crouched down behind the starting line. I tried not to look over to my right, but my eye caught the dark arm that had tensed, ready for action.

'Get set ...' I looked up then, every sense mentally circling lane three and fixing on the finish line. I was going to get there first. Ahead of everyone else. Everyone, including Suvira Mathur. My right leg was extended way back, my shoulders poised forward, the tips of my fingers resting on the red track, ready for take-off.

'Go!' the starter's gun went off and I was out of my blocks almost immediately, racing away. There was no one on my left and, more importantly, there was no one on my right! I was ahead and sprinting away. The roar of the crowd was deafening. I was thinking of nothing now. Flying, Free. Released. Then my ears began to register a throbbing sound. I frowned slightly as the single voice of the crowd's chant became clear.

'Su-vira! Su-Vira! Su-VIRA! SU-VIRA!' There wasn't a single voice chanting my name. They didn't even know my name, or who I was. Not even those in my own House. To me it seemed as if the whole school, the whole of Delhi, the whole of India, the whole world was chanting that one name. The chant was rising to a crescendo. And I knew why. I could hear the drumbeat of her feet as they pounded down lane four in hot pursuit.

I knew she was closing in on me. I knew that I had got away too early at the start. I hadn't paced myself correctly. We were approaching the 400-metres mark.

The crowd went crazy as Suvira closed the gap between us. We were running shoulder to shoulder and each was eyeing the other to see who made the first move.

'Slow down! Slow down!' I told myself. I started slowing down, very imperceptibly. It's an old trick in racing. You cut back on pace and your opponent too takes the pressure off herself.

She did. It worked. A bit. But with a wildly enthusiastic crowd egging her on and just 300 metres to go, she began pulling away. She was in front now and I had lost the lead that I had maintained for the first half.

I hung on though, hanging on to her tail like a worrying dog. I'd just lay back a bit, catch my breath, refuel myself and give it my best shot.

My gaze travelled down her legs as they pumped their way towards the finish line. I think it was then I saw her shoes. Brand -new ones. With glistening, sharp spikes that sprang forward, bit into the track and then sprang forward again like a wild, untameable animal. I tried not to think about those spikes. I concentrated instead on my own. Mine were old and blunted through use. But they had experience. And yes, my old spikes were used to winning. Surely my good old spikes had some hunger left in them yet.

 I was close now, just 20-30 metres to go. My old, blue spikes had put me on victory stand often enough. I would take them there this time. Past those flashy new spikes. Past the home favourite. I surged forward. Suvira's head swivelled sideways to check how close I was. Seeing me close in, she stepped on the accelerator. But I was going full-steam ahead too.

'Su-vira! Su-vira! Su-VIRA! SU-VIRA!' The whole universe reverberated with the name of my worthy opponent. We ran together now. Step by step, stride for stride. The old favourite with new shoes, the newcomer with old ones.

The tape was within arm's reach now. I charged towards it. She charged towards it. I could feel my lungs bursting with the effort. I could hear her gasping too. Hear her through the roaring pain of effort in my ears. I ducked my head and breasted the tape. She ducked ehr head and breasted the tape. I crossed the finish line, She crossed the finish line.

The crowd went wild. Cheering and chanting. Still chanting Suvira's name. But in between the chanting, there were voices that asked, 'Hey, who is that?' 'What's that new girls name?'

And then, we were standing there, Together. On the top step of the victory stand, where both of us were used to standing alone. She turned to me and smiled. A friendly, open smile, as though she was genuinely happy.

'Well done!' she said.

'Well run,' I said.

Then we joined hands and raised them to acknowledge the cheering of our school. My school.

Paro Anand (b.1957) has written several books for children, including plays, short stories and novels. Some of her well-known atories are Elephants Don't Diet, Pet's Please and Born to Lead. She is also a performance storyteller and has performed her stories in India and also in the UK, France and Switzerland. 

cope : deal effectively with something difficult

keep off : to avoid 

sting : a sharp tingling pain or sensation

stride : walk (long, decisive steps)

make a decent go : be successful in (something)

warming the cockles of my hearts : give one a comforting feeling of contentment

battered : damaged by age and repeated use 

spikes : a pair of running shoes with metal points set into the sole

springs : an exercise in which you move or jump suddenly or rapidly upwards or forwards

stretches : an exercise where you straighten or extend a part of your body to its full length

auspicious : favourable

dwindling : diminishing gradually in size, amount or strength 

feigning : pretending to be affected by (a feeling, state or injury)

chicken : (here) cowardly 

coaxed : persuaded (someone) gradually or gently to do something

crouched : adopted a position where the knees are bent and the upper body is brought forward and down

chant : a repeated rhythmic phrase, typically one shouted or sung in unison by a crowd

crescendo : a gradual increase in loudness

imperceptibly : so subtly as not to be perceived

glistening : shining with a sparkling light 

untameable : not capable of being controlled

surged : moved suddenly and powerfully forward

swivelled : turned around a point or axis or on a swivel

accelerator : a device, typically a foot pedal, which controls the speed of a vehicle's engine

reverberated : (of a loud noise) be repeated several times as an echo