Crossing the Country

There have been 24 practices. There have been eight meets. After 32 days of running X-Country with my school, I've become a different runner. I've become someone who understands strategy, training routines while recognizing reasons for success.

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Today marks the last run as a team of the season. 2015. It was here 31 times. It's soon to go at 32. Five school buses are parked on Gerry's Landing Road, bordering the concrete sidewalks that make the transition across the vast field of football and soccer players swifter. I stare at my Fitbit. 3:00. The race is scheduled to commence at 3:30. You can do the math, there is only thirty minutes before the onset of smelly sweat. I report the weather as odiously windy, cold and solemn. It is also Friday the 13. How much luck can be upon our team? I question. Dressed in navy running shorts, a white long-sleeved shirt, with the jersey over it in 50 degrees, is cold. Freezing cold. My legs perpetually shake. The hairs on my arms rise threateningly high, as if they will be pulled off by the wind any second.

The clouds show no light. Water drops trickle down the side of the Athletics Center into the shallow puddles that have developed underneath. Traffic is ceaseless. Beeping, honking, drives me bonkers. \We are called to be go inside. At least a dozen boxes of sweets are dragged with us. 

"Girls, I'll give you two commands, one of which is 'ready set, runners' the second of which is the blowing of the whistle, now, you are to–" I zone out after noticing how the host speaks with no periods. He just goes on and on and on. I've run this course at least three times. Each time, the rules are the same. I watch the boys anxiously watching on the sidelines. They will race after the us. Currently, they are cheering above the voice of the host. When I return to my surroundings, the host has said 'ready set, runners.' Adrenaline rushes into my legs. I'm ready for this, I'm ready for this. I've been saying these five words to myself for hours, telling myself I'm ready. Having asthma complicates running. I stand in the second row, realizing that I'd taken a puff of my inhaler too early. Attempting to forget, I stare at the runners feet in front of me. I observe the placement of their feet. About hips-width apart, left leg in the back for the spring, right leg in front for direction, toes pointing slightly outwards. I am ready for this, I assure myself. Before I am ready, the whistle screeches. 

All I hear are sneakers treading ineptly on the pavement. Breath comes out of dry mouthes in sporadic heaves of fatigue and difficulty. I dauntingly stare at the runners ahead of me. It feels like there are a million, though there are only seventy. I hear the wind rustling against my chilly earlobes. In fact, my whole body is still shaking. I smell dirt. It had rained the previous day, which imprinted a dirt like smell of must and humidity. My breath slowed for a second. I hadn't even realized it. That was until I had a sudden feeling of fatigue pervade throughout my body. Desperately I gasped for more breath, feeling renewed with sudden energy, finally passing the girl in front of me.

1.8 miles later…

So close to the end! I could see it along the bend of the Charles River through the naked trees devoid of leaves. The little boat house the stood all lone, staring at its own reflection on the river day and night. My friends were ahead of me. I felt heaviness throughout my whole body. Every muscle ached. I couldn't say whether that was a good thing or bad. My legs were flying. I felt free. I felt unfettered from the manacles of a school desk. I felt…alive. Sending this message through every cell of my body, I raced ahead towards my friends, slowly closing a wide margin.

100 feet away. 90 feet away. Now I was racing within the boundaries of the final finish, marked by cones on each side of the grassy area. I glanced behind me, seeing a green shirt. Parc schooler, I thought. Badly wanting my legs to fly faster, I gulped in a deep breath and thrust my whole body forwards. I felt my legs lift into the air at least three feet, stretch out a yard and land on the dirt. Every step counted! Every second counted. It was a second toward the finish line. It was a step towards the finish line. I saw a green shirt pass me at the last second sprint. It didn't matter. I turned my head down and crossed the line proudly.

***

13 out of 73 in no stinky number. I was satiated with my time. I close my eyes in bed tonight, evocatively reflecting on my whole season. It started with eight minute miles, frequent asthma attacks and way too much endurance plus too little speed. Today I had a good race. For weeks I had intense practices. Eight times I've progressed in speed. This was a great season.