why the track breeds magic
While the sun peeked through the clouds on an early weekday morning, a wide grin formed across my face as the soles of my worn-out pink sandals pounded against the pavement track outside of my elementary school. Following the daily routine, my twin brother and I had been dropped off at school prior to the 8am start. Agile and energetic, I thrived on competition from a young age. So, when I noticed one of the most athletic girls in my class waiting for school to start, my fourth-grade self eagerly challenged her to a race. Although her freckled face bore no signs of excitement at the offer, I was elated upon hearing her crisp response: “sure.” I toed the imaginary line that my brother had drawn out for us, knelt down as I had seen on TV, placed my fingertips to the ground, and held an intense stare ahead. Clutching the milk money that jingled in my shorts pocket with one hand while pumping the other, I sprinted around the sharp rectangular track at top speed. In school, my small frame and bashful attitude often rendered me overlooked. However, I wasn’t shy by choice; my reserved ways stemmed from a lack of self-confidence, and in fact, an outgoing personality had always been nestled deep inside of my young, reclusive self. On that cool morning, those two minutes on the track allowed me to feel free. The speedy turnover in my legs collided with a newly unbreakable determination, producing the feeling of confidence for which I had always wished. Briefly liberated from my insecurities, the euphoria that I felt upon crossing the finish line clouded the disappointment that most children would have felt from losing that race as severely as I did. I may have crossed the finish line at least twenty feet behind my friend, but I wasn’t finished yet. The track quickly became my safe haven, the burning feeling in my legs became a sensation that I craved. Despite being the shortest person in my grade, I continued to let my overly competitive nature dictate my decisions, frequently challenging my classmates to races and losing. Losing never mattered to me; on the track I was unstoppable.
When I joined the cross country team in ninth grade, my dreams of spending everyday at the track soon became reality. This time around, the track was gorgeous. A generous donation from an alumnus of the nearby university, the track where my team trained featured a rubbery surface of professional caliber, clear white lines, and the scenery of the Chicago River a stone's throw away. Regardless, I would’ve been just as happy using my elementary school’s hard, unforgiving path, so long as it served as a place for me to train and progress. In high school, the meaning of the track transformed; it soon became a place for me to directly witness my improvements against time. Because, while my persistence enabled my talent to snowball, I could always count on the track to remain the same. Cross country and track never fail to throw new variables and obstacles my way— from having to race new competitors, lose beloved teammates to graduation, stave off injuries, and survive harsh weather, the sport of running is synonymous with change. But the track is what makes these whirlwinds of change bearable; it has remained a constant force in my malleable lifestyle. When I step on the track to do a workout, I know that the pain I feel along any point of the curved surface is a pain that I’ve previously felt, and ultimately conquered, hundreds of times before. Consequently, despite recently entering a competitive new realm of racing, the track has remained the seed from which my confidence continues to grow. The track is a magical place, and without it, I wouldn’t be half the person I am today.
- Anonymous
