The Life of a Track Runner: Think You Can Handle It?
A soccer player wakes up in the morning, dresses, goes to school, and plays in the soccer game. The competitive juices start flowing as the team enters the soccer pitch. For a track runner on the day of a track meet, the minute you wake up, you know you have competition that day. The determination runs in your head during every task you accomplish that day. As you put on your blue and white tracksuit under your school clothes, you feel the pride seep through your pores into your soul. Each class feels like an eternity when you are ready and waiting to compete.
You leave class at 2:30 p.m. while your classmates wish you good luck. They have no idea what you'll be doing while they sit in class half asleep. They don't understand the extreme physical and mental distress you're experiencing. The swishing of your bag against your clothes is the only thing you can hear while you're walking down the hallway. The other track runners have to get changed in the locker rooms together, but you're ready. You've been ready. During the bus ride there, you talk to no one. Your iPod is playing The Strokes and your legs are fidgeting so much, the whole seat is shaking. This is the longest 30-minute bus ride you've ever been on.
When you get off the bus, you are no longer in IB Math High, or the president of the robotics team. You are only a track runner now, no different from anyone else there. The track doesn't care if you are the most popular girl or have the cutest prom date; the only important thing is your determination.
The first call for your event has been announced and you've started warming up. As you hear this, you run to your bag and put on your track cleats, you put your iPod away—you're ready. It hasn't even occurred to you that there are six other schools here with girls twice your size, and the track always seems bigger before a race. Second call for the race—you make your way over to the start line. They check your name, and you find your lane. The time between finding your lane and the gunshot is an eternity. The girls around you are stretching and calming themselves down. You've been ready since you got up that morning.
The gun is in the air and the butterflies start flying in your stomach. The shot is fired, then silence. You are completely calm. The race starts and you are in about third or fourth place. By the end of the first lap you hear, "one minute, 19" -— too fast. At the middle of the second lap you are in second place, about five paces behind the first runner. Your second time is 3:05 -— too slow. This lap is the hardest, but you're halfway there. Doubts fill your head about the race, but are quickly emptied by the hard breathing of the girl in front of you. You've found her weakness. The rest of the track team is calling out your name, and that's all you hear. Your speed picks up and by the end of the third lap you are right on target. The adrenaline is flowing when you start the last lap. You run now faster than you ever have, gaining speed on the girl in front of you. You pass her on the last 100 meters of the track. The crowd is going wild. You can see the end of the track ahead of you, but your legs feel like they'll give out at any second. Finally you pass the line, six minutes flat, first place. Think you can handle that?