Exhausted. Sore. Somnolent. Achy. That’s exactly how I feel at the moment. It’s the final day of February; track began two days ago. Every day, the temperature has at a frigid 40oF. My next chemistry exam is rapidly approaching. Yet, I still find myself diligently coming to track practices five days a week. But, why?
I began my track journey just last year, the spring semester of my ninth grade year. By no means will I ever forget my first day of practice. It was held on the very first day of March. My more-experienced teammates were warmed-up and enthusiastic, ready to run in their new Nike-brand sports bras and colorful, neon sneakers. I had on my bland gray gym uniform, with a pair of raggedy no-name sneakers that I’ve had since fifth grade. I was (slightly) ready to go.
“Okay, so today, we’re going to run one mile!” Mrs. Sorenson, our newly-certified track coach dictated to us.
How far is a mile? I wondered to myself. My school is located in hilly Brookville, New York. Long Island Lutheran High School is located in total isolation from the rest of the world. We’re surrounded by trees. The one-mile course winds through forests, a golf-course, the parking lot, and the school’s baseball field. When does it end?
I completed the mile in about twenty minutes, but not without walking for extensive periods of time. I felt dizzy, nauseous, and disoriented. I finished the mile in last place. There were aches and pains in every joint of my body. How was I ever going to finish the season?
I originally joined the track & field team to lose weight; I wanted to be in shape. Ninth grade was the year I became interested in sports. I wanted to be a member of a team. I tried volleyball; I started attending myriad basketball games. But track has been my most strenuous, laborious activity to date.
I continued to attend practice consistently throughout ninth grade, practically never missing a single day. I sprinted two hundred yards at a time, ran up hills twenty times, and ran half-mile intervals without stopping. I was determined; I pushed myself to my breaking point. Baby steps, baby steps.
The very first track meet was held on a biting, bleak, rainy day in late March. We drove one hour to a dark, industrial area in Red Hook, Brooklyn. The meet had about ten schools from five different New York City boroughs. I will always remember the fact that I put on a strapless bra that fell off when I was racing.
My first event was the 100-meter sprint. My heart was racing. I turned into a nervous wreck. The gun sounds. I run as fast as I can for twenty seconds. And the race is over. Was that really it? After all of that agony and preparation for weeks, I barely survived (even if I did come in last place).
However, not only did I survive my first race that day, but I also made a few everlasting friendships. I remember having vibrant conversations will all my overexcited track counterparts about the events that day on the bus to and from the meet. I discovered other teenagers I could relate to in a new way; kids that had the same interests as me. From then on, I knew that the season wouldn’t be so bad after all.
For the rest of the season, I competed in 100- and 200-meter sprints, along with seemingly endless relay races. Our track meets were long distances away from our school. The weather was always abominable. I practiced with over sixty teammates. But I fell in love with track.
I had developed a few lively friendships with people I’ve known since sixth grade, with people who enjoy great music, but now I had a new peer group. I stopped feeling somewhat isolated; my social life has improved greatly; and I received a Nike-brand uniform! And perhaps best of all, I have maintained a healthy body weight.
Most importantly, I learned what it means to be a runner. Sure, I still came in last place, but I could finally run a mile without taking periodic breaks. I developed a healthy competitive spirit, and learned how to mentally focus on a task. I’ve seen children from other schools accomplish Olympian feats at track meets; I’ve met future sports heroes. Track has completely transformed me as a person.
Now I’m in tenth grade. Though I traveled extensively throughout the summertime, I made sure to run for half an hour practically every single day, indoors or out. During the fall semester, I joined the school’s cross country team for the first time. We upped the ante from one to three miles. No big deal. I could actually race without stopping.
“Nine minutes!” Coach Sorenson congratulated to me after I had run my first mile during cross country practice. Once or twice, I even finished our meets ahead of several people who are typically behind me. Coach observes that I’m improving at least one a week. I appreciate the encouragement.
“I practiced all summer,” I told her confidently. So, Mission Accomplished.
My observation: Track has the potential to change your life and your perspective. It proves, as my team slogan states, that “Running is a Mental Sport; and We’re All Insane” (if only just a little bit)!
I began my track journey just last year, the spring semester of my ninth grade year. By no means will I ever forget my first day of practice. It was held on the very first day of March. My more-experienced teammates were warmed-up and enthusiastic, ready to run in their new Nike-brand sports bras and colorful, neon sneakers. I had on my bland gray gym uniform, with a pair of raggedy no-name sneakers that I’ve had since fifth grade. I was (slightly) ready to go.
“Okay, so today, we’re going to run one mile!” Mrs. Sorenson, our newly-certified track coach dictated to us.
How far is a mile? I wondered to myself. My school is located in hilly Brookville, New York. Long Island Lutheran High School is located in total isolation from the rest of the world. We’re surrounded by trees. The one-mile course winds through forests, a golf-course, the parking lot, and the school’s baseball field. When does it end?
I completed the mile in about twenty minutes, but not without walking for extensive periods of time. I felt dizzy, nauseous, and disoriented. I finished the mile in last place. There were aches and pains in every joint of my body. How was I ever going to finish the season?
I originally joined the track & field team to lose weight; I wanted to be in shape. Ninth grade was the year I became interested in sports. I wanted to be a member of a team. I tried volleyball; I started attending myriad basketball games. But track has been my most strenuous, laborious activity to date.
I continued to attend practice consistently throughout ninth grade, practically never missing a single day. I sprinted two hundred yards at a time, ran up hills twenty times, and ran half-mile intervals without stopping. I was determined; I pushed myself to my breaking point. Baby steps, baby steps.
The very first track meet was held on a biting, bleak, rainy day in late March. We drove one hour to a dark, industrial area in Red Hook, Brooklyn. The meet had about ten schools from five different New York City boroughs. I will always remember the fact that I put on a strapless bra that fell off when I was racing.
My first event was the 100-meter sprint. My heart was racing. I turned into a nervous wreck. The gun sounds. I run as fast as I can for twenty seconds. And the race is over. Was that really it? After all of that agony and preparation for weeks, I barely survived (even if I did come in last place).
However, not only did I survive my first race that day, but I also made a few everlasting friendships. I remember having vibrant conversations will all my overexcited track counterparts about the events that day on the bus to and from the meet. I discovered other teenagers I could relate to in a new way; kids that had the same interests as me. From then on, I knew that the season wouldn’t be so bad after all.
For the rest of the season, I competed in 100- and 200-meter sprints, along with seemingly endless relay races. Our track meets were long distances away from our school. The weather was always abominable. I practiced with over sixty teammates. But I fell in love with track.
I had developed a few lively friendships with people I’ve known since sixth grade, with people who enjoy great music, but now I had a new peer group. I stopped feeling somewhat isolated; my social life has improved greatly; and I received a Nike-brand uniform! And perhaps best of all, I have maintained a healthy body weight.
Most importantly, I learned what it means to be a runner. Sure, I still came in last place, but I could finally run a mile without taking periodic breaks. I developed a healthy competitive spirit, and learned how to mentally focus on a task. I’ve seen children from other schools accomplish Olympian feats at track meets; I’ve met future sports heroes. Track has completely transformed me as a person.
Now I’m in tenth grade. Though I traveled extensively throughout the summertime, I made sure to run for half an hour practically every single day, indoors or out. During the fall semester, I joined the school’s cross country team for the first time. We upped the ante from one to three miles. No big deal. I could actually race without stopping.
“Nine minutes!” Coach Sorenson congratulated to me after I had run my first mile during cross country practice. Once or twice, I even finished our meets ahead of several people who are typically behind me. Coach observes that I’m improving at least one a week. I appreciate the encouragement.
“I practiced all summer,” I told her confidently. So, Mission Accomplished.
My observation: Track has the potential to change your life and your perspective. It proves, as my team slogan states, that “Running is a Mental Sport; and We’re All Insane” (if only just a little bit)!
TheSkyOwesMeRain
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