Spring has always been a hectic
season for me. It held the feeling of a brooding battle, pain and suffering to
come, yet with it, glory! Track began for me as a junior high student. It was the
reputation, the rush, racing in what appeared to be endless circles, and the
finale on the last hundred meters. Junior High track ended quickly though and
before we knew it we were rookies again.
The tar looked different our freshman year,
somehow more menacing. The veteran
runners looked down on us no matter what our times were. We had expected our
times to show off our prowess as runners but our status as freshman
overshadowed our speed. During practice we took our place at the back of the
pack during runs and kept our opinions for the up coming race to ourselves. We
recognized this routine kept us from reaching our true potential and we began
to push ourselves. Our behavior earned us angry glares from the upper classman
as we forged to the front.
This still did not earn the respect
of our senior teammates, quite the contrary, their disregard for our abilities
only grew. During meets we showed talent but always took second to our elders.
Our times didn’t matter as much as we had hoped, it was performance and
consistency we lacked by our inexperience. By the time finals arrived we were
competent enough to compete but not favored to win.
Walking up
to that striped line at our first conference meet I had only one goal, and I
knew my classmate and friend shared this same desire. The nervousness I now
know so well welled up inside me, the fear of failing a goal. Then the gun
sounded, converting that fear into pure adrenaline. I remember the shock on my
teammates face as I flew past him, knowing now that he must have been laughing
knowing I couldn’t maintain that speed. He was right. I quickly dropped behind
his heels but refused to let him escape me. For fifteen hundred meters I stuck
to his side, matching his pace. When the final stretch was in sight, I knew if
I didn’t go now I would be forced to endure anther year as his understudy. So I
threw my head back, and employed my mom’s advice from the stands to “Use my
arms!” It wasn’t a graceful finish but I had finally earned my place on the
team.
Instead of
nervousness the following year, I recall an intense excitement to help carry
our team. Coming from a small catholic school the freshman track team
achievements traveled fast. Now our times did speak for themselves, earning us
our place at the front of the pack. We were vital to the team make up but still
followed our seniors out of respect. As equals we worked towards a mutual goal,
breaking the school’s relay record. And break it we did! The plaque is a
testament to the team we had created from weekly rivalry’s, refusing to let the
other take our spot.
By our junior year we were no
longer just a part of this family, we were its parents. With our regular
appearances in the newspaper and fame in the surrounding schools, we attracted
a following to our once humble distance team.
Having learned from our
predecessors, we saw potential in the freshman runners. Our notable relay team
was now composed of two juniors accompanied by a sophomore and freshman. Due to
the loss of our upperclassmen, we decided to set a rather unrealistic goal,
re-breaking our previous record. Our faith in the under-classmen wasn’t solid
yet but they soon proved us wrong, helping to shatter the record multiple times
throughout the season. My friend was harsher on their consistency, he being the
fastest of us all, while I told them how they couldn’t measure themselves by
our previous team. This created an inner competiveness, no one wanting to be
the weakest link. We reached a whole new level by not only winning our finals
but also advancing past the regional final. Before we knew it our young team
had reached the state meet. It no longer mattered where we placed though, we
had made it. Through all of our trials we had truly become a team. From running
together outside of practice, to just gathering at a teammates house after a
meet, we had become a family.
