I Remember...

I remember taking those first few steps out of the gym into the end of the cool February weather. My new Asics Gel running shoes crunching the half alive grass beneath each step were all I could hear. My steps quickened, before I knew it I was past the metal gate and was standing at the top of the concrete stairs. That annul feeling I got this time of year crept into my stomach. I stared down at about eighty kids if I was lucky standing around on the grass field. I mentally shoved the sickness out of my way, stood up straighter than ever, and walked down the empty stadium like I was Queen Elizabeth, and here I might as well been.

      
   

 I remember after the first week of running too many warm-up laps and what seemed to be an hour of agilities, my pride dwindle away as fast as the number of kids that would show up everyday. In two weeks the weather and social status of this activity jumped from “cool” to dreadful. The only time the weather changed was in my tub when I took ice baths three times a week. The social status of that definitely stayed at dreadful.
   

            I remember May 6, 2011, the “Grant
Bushman”. It always made me nervous to go to Moapa, but that day made the anticipated cocoons in my stomach turn into a mass of butterflies. I expected the meet to be just like every other one, a little like a long distance race, boring and exhausting. Little did I know I scored the most points that day. I left with two golds, two silvers, two new personal records, the “Most Outstanding Track Athlete” award, and a “movie scene” kiss from a pirate.

      
    I remember not always winning. Going to state in all four of my events was rewarding alone. The sick feeling in my stomach always shoots in when I think about those two days. My 4x1 team was disqualified; I choked in my other races and let it effect my jumping. To everyone else and me, for a long time, I had lost. I love to bring back that memory and the pain from it. It now is a huge part of my motivation I found in myself. No one can know joy without pain, love without hate, nor appreciate victory without defeat.

            I remember wearing paper thin, polyester uniforms. So light that the vinyl “VV” on my chest was heavy. I remember lacing up shoes that fit like gloves. On concrete I cringed every time I stepped. I might as well have been dancing on a chalkboard with the spikes of my shoes scrapping into the floor. But once I stepped on turf, where my shoes belong, the whole atmosphere changed. My spikes on the balls on my feet sank smoothly between the turfs. As if the ground turned into a huge hole of mud and I only was on the top, dry layer that would never break, making myself bounce rather than walk. I remember backing up routinely into the starting blocks that would determine the end of each race. I remember a white line I couldn’t cross, making sure I must trust my steps and focus on the distance I had to gain before landing in the sand. I remember a stick, trust, and full effort I couldn’t afford to drop. I remember finishing with no one in front of me. I remember that everything is put on my shoulders here, everything I do is me. I remember Virgin Valley Track.