CUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU

The first breath out of Barton lungs. Deep, resounding, solid, iconic. Sometimes chills on my skin. People often think we're booing each other, but it's actually our war cry.

This past weekend would have been my final Heps.

The Ivy League Heptagonal Track & Field Championships.

(Ironic, because there's actually 8 schools in the conference)

Cornell University Track and Field (CUTF).

We were ready, it was gonna be a good one.

I came in exceeding my expectations,

I'm leaving never having met them.

Coach turnover like a coin flip

Man it makes me feel sick

This class of 2020 has really been through it

But this is not another senior sob story. It's a reflection on the past, the good and the hard, not the now.

Barton is an air hanger, pointed ceiling so high, wood beams like shiplap. Walls of gray stone. It's a fortress. Meant for world war planes - fitting. Red track, I like to brag, surfaced by the people who did the Olympic trials track in 2016. It's scent, rubber and memories, is burned in my mind.

I always wondered what it would be like to walk in at practice time if you didn't know us. Beautiful bodies everywhere.

Track is about maximizing a capacity- speed, strength, flight, distance. The absolute fittest your body can be at its task. Throwers powerfully and agilely spinning metal into oblivion. Dust filling the air on impact. Jumpers sending their bodies to fly into sand and over bars. Sprinters lunging out of blocks, speed intensely crisp. Distance (and mid-distance) pounding laps to the point of suffering. Music bumping in the background. Weight room like a dance club.

The buzz of these occurring simultaneously is incredible. Energy unmatched.

All for the indulgent glory of besting a personal record, with the greater purpose of lifting the team as whole to victory.

I'm a middle distance runner. The 800 specifically. One of mid-d's favorite claims is we are "on the cross country team" ie though unlikely to run many XC races, we still gain the benefit of two snacks from the snack station year round (vs just one if we weren't 'in season' in the fall).

But our real identity lies in the fact that our races call for sprint endurance. We run as fast as we can for an extended period of time that requires lactic legs at almost every finish line. It hurts like h*ll, but the ecstasy of finishing well is always worth it. Although, no matter how good the time, there is always an ever present dissatisfaction in hopes of a faster race next week.

The training is diverse.

Circuits, hills, long runs, 150m build ups, accelerator strides, sprints, easy runs, 300m repeats, 400m repeats, and perhaps most famously, the 'MFW' (mother f***ing workout). The end of this one is pure carnage across the track. But mutual suffering ties you close.

Giddyup!

The penultimate rep already?!

Happy Bus, Cheater Happy, Dodge, Freese, Midway, Iroquois

Named runs, maps tattooed into memory

Ithaca is more beautiful than most probably know

Where community develops

Teammates become friends

A sweet escape

Fresh air

But always back to Barton.

Off to the side you find the track center. Someone once joked I was the 'Barton Queen'. {I have spent an inordinate amount of time in that building, I even worked the desk} But really I consider myself more of a track center rat. Burgundy couches, long tables, walls that were once filled with olympic posters, pictures of Heps champions, trophies, an olympic torch. It carries an air of nostalgia.

Have you ever been in the track center at noon time?

Oh it's a good time.

Everyone celebrating cause it's lunchtime.

Orange Chicken Burritos you'll definitely find.

Have you ever had a debate about nothing?

Intelligence heightened by athletic confidence.

Noise, chaos, loud voices, laughter, freestyle, grins.

Incredibly entertaining

Homework, naps, conversations, quiet.

Our pseudo living room.

Athletes.

But also,

dancers & singers & rappers & actors & artists & activists & influencers & models & geniuses & leaders & characters of every kind

United by athletic endeavor it's a beautiful diversity.

Both incredible kindness & incredible drama.

I won't pretend we're guilt free.

But still, family.

An incredibly determined, passionate, impressive, inspiring, cool, intelligent, accomplished group of young people. Still weird and wild nonetheless.

I adore them.

& on another front,

Coaching consistency was never really in line

In fact the only coach here the whole time, was the men's not mine.

Though the throws coach here for most of it is incredibly kind.

And when my coaches were here,

for one or three years,

I never doubted they believed in me, despite any fear.

(Though, I can't say the feeling was always mutual for some of my peers)

And now, my running career.

She has had many an up and down.

Success & failure.

Testing the limits of who I could be.

Let me tell you about my favorite race.

Freshman Year Indoor Heps - February 25th 2017 - The Amory, New York City

Coming from the Midwest I was already entranced by NYC. And coming out of highschool running, the Armory is the well known site of the 'famed' New Balance Nationals - where the best teenage athletes go to prove their excellence.

At this point in my life, entering that building was nearly equivalent to being a professional athlete. I was in awe.

Warmup around the block in the chilled February air of Spanish Harlem, a homeless shelter across the street. Must carry competition tag at all times to be able to re-enter the building. Bib with my last name beneath green ivy leaves. I followed my captain around who was competing in the same race. Strides over and over and over. She ran first, absolutely destroyed her race.

Then it was my turn.

We were soon single file, myself at the back of the pack, I zoned in simply staring at the head in front of me and clinging on for dear life. With a final kick we crossed the finish line.

I finished dead last.

I assumed nothing dramatic had happened but as times flashed on the board mine popped up with 2:12 - I had PR'd by 4 seconds. I was shocked. I stepped off the track and my captain pulled me into a hug then lifted my arm. As I looked up I saw my teammates on their feet cheering from above. My coach hugged me too. Two days before my 19th birthday. It was beyond words.

And I carried the joy back with me to Barton, for at least another year.

Because my Body also Broke in Barton

Chained to the bikes over and over

Alter-g - running on air is not as desirable as it might seem.

Trap rap radio in my ears - the only thing that matched my frustration

Left Calf, Right Quad, Left Hamstring (slipped into the splits at a water pong tournament for charity), Right Knee, Right Calf, Numerous Falls, Left Shin, Left Hamstring Again (during my final race at Cornell), Both Feet, My Head.

Yes my head, or rather my heart.

Injury & illness played a big part,

but they are not the only reasons I'm going out ingloriously. The tedious trauma of returning over and over … takes its toll.

But I did do it, I always came back

And though unsatisfying, it's ok ... but just ok.

I still had some d*mn fast races.

I swear I've nearly flown.

On wings like eagles.

Not faint nor weary.

All in.

And I've loved it.

Maybe too much sometimes.

But still one of my greatest blessings.

And I may have breathed a bit deep,

Because I think,

Like a smoker,

I will always have a little bit of Barton Lung.