First Olympic Games

Hello. My name is Lycomedes, and I come from a small village in Greece. Ever since I was a little boy, my favorite thing to do was run. I would race the wind through the olive groves, my feet barely touching the dusty ground. One day, exciting news traveled to our village. It was time for the great games at Olympia, a special festival held every four years to honor the mighty god, Zeus. My heart leaped with joy. I had trained my whole life for a chance to compete. I packed a small bag, said goodbye to my family, and began the long journey. For many days, I walked on winding roads under the warm sun. Soon, I saw others on the road, all traveling in the same direction. There were strong wrestlers, discus throwers, and other runners like me, all with hopeful smiles on our faces. The closer we got to Olympia, the more my stomach fluttered with a mix of nervousness and pure excitement. I felt like I was walking toward the most important place in the world.

When I finally arrived, I could not believe my eyes. Olympia was more magnificent than any story I had ever heard. Grand temples with huge stone columns seemed to touch the sky. The air buzzed with the sound of thousands of people talking, laughing, and cheering. I saw athletes from all over Greece, each one strong and ready. Even though we were there to compete against each other, everyone was friendly. We shared stories of our homes and wished each other good luck. I said, “May you run with the speed of the wind.”. My new friend smiled and replied, “And may you have the strength of the mountains.”. The biggest event was the stadion, a short sprint that was the most important race of all. As I walked toward the track, my legs felt a little shaky. I took my place at the starting line, a simple scratch in the dirt. My heart was pounding like a drum. I looked down the long, flat track and took a deep breath. This was it. I closed my eyes for a second and thought of my village. I was ready.

When the signal was given, I burst forward. The crowd became a colorful blur, and their cheers sounded like a roaring wave. I focused only on the finish line ahead, pumping my arms and pushing my legs as hard as I could. The air rushed past my face, and for a few moments, it felt like I was flying. I did not win the race that day, but it did not matter. My heart was full of pride just for being there and running my best. The winner did not receive gold or silver. He was given a simple wreath woven from the branches of a sacred olive tree. It was the greatest honor an athlete could receive. The most wonderful part of the games was the Olympic Truce. During the festival, all fighting between the cities had to stop, so everyone could travel safely. It was a time for peace. I learned that day that coming together to celebrate and try our best is the most important prize of all.