go ahead. spill. it's time.
i've always been somewhat of an oddball among peers & teammates, & during my stint on the Cedar Crest track team, that fact didn't change. for our school, i was a bizarre amalgam, thrower & distance runner, & also a bookend athlete: hurling a javelin at the beginning of meets & busting out a 3200m toward the end. the latter seemed to be the perfect track event for me--not so short that it's an all-out sprint, not so long that i die of boredom from running in circles. eight laps. get out fast on the first two, pace for the next four, up-tempo for the second to last, then sprint the bell lap.
& i'll never forget this one particular race my senior year, CCHS vs ELCO. i was following my usual strategy & soon enough found myself shoulder-to-shoulder with the opponent's top runner. as distance runners do, we drafted off one another, pushing each other but not burning ourselves out early. then lap 7, i bumped it up. my rival? she stuck with me for a bit, but halfway through, she suddenly bolted. she was sprinting at an ungodly pace with 600m to go, & i had only one thought: "fuck." i increased my speed, but i knew that i wasn't going to catch her, so i decided to stick to my plan, saving the all-out for the final 400m. as i rounded the curve to push the straight, i saw her cross the line & step off the track, one lap shy of the required eight.
she had automatically DQed herself.
a little startled, i blew by the line. though i was now alone, regained my focus, & kicked my tempo into the next gear. lactic acid was by now setting my legs on fire. i was beginning to run on fumes. side stitches were setting in. but i knew that i couldn't let go, not having poured so much out already. somewhere, in the recesses of my labryinthine grey matter, something was telling me that i had, that i could do this. for once, i listened to that voice; at the last 200m, i let my legs fly. i burned all the fuel i had left in the tank, & when I crossed the line? i won.
if the other girl had kept her lap count straight, i might not have won. i don't know. an athlete of equivalent ability, she seemed to be an intuitive race tactician, with similar strategy & discipline. however, in the end, whether she was there to push me or not, i still had a PR to run & a hard race to give. & the win isn't what made that 3200 for me. the legacy of the race is this--the time had come to leave all my guts on the track, & i did.
***
over the past five years, i've endured enough significant injuries, health issues, & negative incidents to render living this passion risky & unwise. when the first serious obstacle showed up at age 28, i'd been doing this for more than half my life. the hurdles, both old & new, continued to increase in severity, & eventually i had to acknowledge that i had to stop. i've made several attempts to resurrect my running, but all have been abortive, & at least for now, the prognosis for a renewed effort isn't good. there are days when i know that someone is getting his miles in, logging her time before the marathon, & enjoying the well-earned race swag, & a part of me grieves. my body doesn't do that anymore.
it's not all sob-story though, as i realize that i'm entering races of a different sort. all are just as difficult & punishing as everything else i've done--the 5 milers, the 5Ks, the 10Ks, the half, the marathon, & the tri, plus all the workouts leading thereunto. without even comprehending what was happening, i'd spent 16 years preparing for certain brutalities of life, & i've survived every one. i have the discipline. i have the endurance. i have the bitchy obstinacy that says, "i'll be damned if i quit, even if i'm doing this on my own, so piss off." & thanks to that one race & the living truth it left with me, i continue to feel my identity as a runner. there are many laps during which i want to throw up, keel over, & die, but i know can push, & push hard. all the way through.
this afternoon, i'm coming into the final two laps of my SVA project, & i have to do this. i only have two drawings to complete, then ink. from there, it's a little bit of touching up, organizing, & adding a few notes to the images. that's it. i could coast if i wanted to; after all, the final admissions review won't be for about another week or whatever. but in doing so, i would sacrifice my integrity & identity, basically throwing away that golden race as if it was trash. i can't do that. i don't want to do that. what i want is to leave everything i have out there, cross the finish line, & quaff my burning thirst, satisfied that i've done the absolute best i can possibly do.
when i'm done, i want turn around & see smoke still rising from the rubber.
i've always been somewhat of an oddball among peers & teammates, & during my stint on the Cedar Crest track team, that fact didn't change. for our school, i was a bizarre amalgam, thrower & distance runner, & also a bookend athlete: hurling a javelin at the beginning of meets & busting out a 3200m toward the end. the latter seemed to be the perfect track event for me--not so short that it's an all-out sprint, not so long that i die of boredom from running in circles. eight laps. get out fast on the first two, pace for the next four, up-tempo for the second to last, then sprint the bell lap.
& i'll never forget this one particular race my senior year, CCHS vs ELCO. i was following my usual strategy & soon enough found myself shoulder-to-shoulder with the opponent's top runner. as distance runners do, we drafted off one another, pushing each other but not burning ourselves out early. then lap 7, i bumped it up. my rival? she stuck with me for a bit, but halfway through, she suddenly bolted. she was sprinting at an ungodly pace with 600m to go, & i had only one thought: "fuck." i increased my speed, but i knew that i wasn't going to catch her, so i decided to stick to my plan, saving the all-out for the final 400m. as i rounded the curve to push the straight, i saw her cross the line & step off the track, one lap shy of the required eight.
she had automatically DQed herself.
a little startled, i blew by the line. though i was now alone, regained my focus, & kicked my tempo into the next gear. lactic acid was by now setting my legs on fire. i was beginning to run on fumes. side stitches were setting in. but i knew that i couldn't let go, not having poured so much out already. somewhere, in the recesses of my labryinthine grey matter, something was telling me that i had, that i could do this. for once, i listened to that voice; at the last 200m, i let my legs fly. i burned all the fuel i had left in the tank, & when I crossed the line? i won.
if the other girl had kept her lap count straight, i might not have won. i don't know. an athlete of equivalent ability, she seemed to be an intuitive race tactician, with similar strategy & discipline. however, in the end, whether she was there to push me or not, i still had a PR to run & a hard race to give. & the win isn't what made that 3200 for me. the legacy of the race is this--the time had come to leave all my guts on the track, & i did.
***
over the past five years, i've endured enough significant injuries, health issues, & negative incidents to render living this passion risky & unwise. when the first serious obstacle showed up at age 28, i'd been doing this for more than half my life. the hurdles, both old & new, continued to increase in severity, & eventually i had to acknowledge that i had to stop. i've made several attempts to resurrect my running, but all have been abortive, & at least for now, the prognosis for a renewed effort isn't good. there are days when i know that someone is getting his miles in, logging her time before the marathon, & enjoying the well-earned race swag, & a part of me grieves. my body doesn't do that anymore.
it's not all sob-story though, as i realize that i'm entering races of a different sort. all are just as difficult & punishing as everything else i've done--the 5 milers, the 5Ks, the 10Ks, the half, the marathon, & the tri, plus all the workouts leading thereunto. without even comprehending what was happening, i'd spent 16 years preparing for certain brutalities of life, & i've survived every one. i have the discipline. i have the endurance. i have the bitchy obstinacy that says, "i'll be damned if i quit, even if i'm doing this on my own, so piss off." & thanks to that one race & the living truth it left with me, i continue to feel my identity as a runner. there are many laps during which i want to throw up, keel over, & die, but i know can push, & push hard. all the way through.
this afternoon, i'm coming into the final two laps of my SVA project, & i have to do this. i only have two drawings to complete, then ink. from there, it's a little bit of touching up, organizing, & adding a few notes to the images. that's it. i could coast if i wanted to; after all, the final admissions review won't be for about another week or whatever. but in doing so, i would sacrifice my integrity & identity, basically throwing away that golden race as if it was trash. i can't do that. i don't want to do that. what i want is to leave everything i have out there, cross the finish line, & quaff my burning thirst, satisfied that i've done the absolute best i can possibly do.
when i'm done, i want turn around & see smoke still rising from the rubber.
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