You guys,
God, I hated running track in high school.
There was nothing fun about it. I spent the entire school day dreading practice, then the entire 10 minutes before the warm-up laying on the high jump pit with my teammates and complaining about what Coach Cooper was going to make us do that day. When he approached our little gang with a big smile on his face and clapped his hands, as if we should be excited to spend our afternoon sucking wind on a 6-mile run, I whined. I complained. I asked him if we had to.
But I was a good runner and a competitive person. I liked winning races. I liked beating my personal best times. I peaked in 10th grade, running a 5:31 mile and 2:29 ½ mile. I only share my times to brag.
Still, my races were brutal to experience and boring to watch. Nobody cared about the 1600 and 800. The only time a crowd formed was for the final race of the meet — the 400 meter relay. One lap around the track. That’s it. And you had a team of four, and you passed off a baton. People watched. They cheered. It was thrilling.
I wanted to run the 400 meter relay, but I wasn’t a 400 runner. Coop told me we had to “save my legs” for the other races.
But I begged, in a way that only an annoying, entitled senior can beg, and eventually, probably because I was no longer one of his top runners, Coop relented. It was a home meet when he surprised me with the good news.
I was finally going to have my moment. What made it even more exciting was that today was a combined meet, which meant the boys track team was there as well. Lots of people gathered around the track to watch the final race. And did I mention boys.
I lined up at the starting line with the green metal baton in my hand. I was the first leg of the race.
The gun sounded, and I took off.
The first 100 I flew. It felt amazing. I was ahead of the pack. The adrenaline would easily carry me through this race. I couldn’t believe I had never run it until this moment. This was going to be my race, from now on, I could feel it. And it was only one lap! How easy and fun was this?!
I rounded the bend for the 200, still in the lead. Go, go, go. I sprinted the back straightaway. I got up on my toes the way Coop always taught us to finish a race, even though I still had more than half a lap to go.
As I approached the 300, I saw Coop standing where he always stood, on the other side of the fence. This is where he would yell out my split times and offer advice and encouragement.
I locked eyes with him at the same moment I felt my body tensing up. His eyes seemed to reflect back exactly what I felt.
Oh no.
There were no words of encouragement, no advice because there was none to give. I heard a faint “Alright, Bleeck,” and knew I was on my own.
I rounded the bend for the 300 and the tightness in my muscles started to radiate out from my chest. My biceps and forearms clenched, my hands balled into tight fists. My thighs and calves felt like they were wrapped in weighted vests. And my face tightened so much it looked like I was smiling.
I rounded the bend for the last straightaway, the last push. A large crowd stood along the fence line, their cheers like taunts.
One by one, the other runners soared past as if I were standing still. I had no thoughts anymore of winning. I wasn’t even sure I could finish the race.
I pathetically handed off the baton. My teammate didn’t even make an effort to get a running start. She just stood there, her arm barely outstretched, watching me as if I were wading through a swamp.
I sat down on the grass inside the track, exactly what Coop always yelled at us not to do. I panted and waited for my face to stop smiling, my shock and exhaustion temporarily staving off absolute humiliation.
All I wanted was for people to watch my race, and then, people watched.
In Matthew McConaughey’s memoir, Greenlights, he wrote about the idea of being “less impressed, more involved.” During the first 100 of that race, I was really feelin’ myself. Not in a confident, in-the-zone kind of way, more of a cocky, I-hope-everybody-can-see-me kind of way. But whenever you hope people are watching, whenever you’re impressed with yourself, that’s exactly the moment you’ll be brought back down to earth.
Or in my case, slammed back down by the inevitable lactic acid concrete wall at the 300-yard mark.
And all the boys watching.
Bleecker Bombs
A new podcast episode is out!
Sam and I discuss risk-taking and our lack of IRL community. Also, we hired a personal chef. Don’t tell my parents.
Listen to the episode on overcast.fm, Spotify, Apple Podcasts, or Google Podcasts.
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Until next week,
That lactic acid concrete wall really knows how to put our competitive egos in our places! Loved this gripping sprint to the finish line
When you nail the sign off with a reference to a previous article 👏🏼
Haha! love how this one turned out Charlie!