In June 2014, four friends and I clenched second place at New Balance Nationals in the Distance Medley Relay. We set a Connecticut state record, and I ran the fastest 800-meter race I have ever run with a time of 1:56.3. Never in my track career have my hopes been as high as they were after that race, and I immediately started setting goals for the following year. I was incredibly confident, and that confidence helped our relay claim second place again at Indoor Nationals in March 2015.
Although it was a success, this race marked the beginning of a profoundly disappointing end to my high school track career. I started running slower times, and as result, I lost every drop of confidence that I once had. In peak condition, I ran a 1:57.5, barely coming close to my performance one year earlier. I did not achieve any of the goals I had set, and had lost interest in competition. I began to dread running races. All I could do was look forward to being finished, with no regard for how well I performed. I was exhausted and counted down the days until the end of the season. Stressed, burned out, and uninterested, I began to hate the sport that I had so deeply loved just one year before.
In September of 2015, I began my freshman year of college, hoping to gain back what I had lost in the previous spring season. I was surprised at how easy it was to become motivated again. With the new setting of college came a new sense of confidence, and an excitement to race that I had not felt since the first time we ran at Nationals my junior year. I went out guns blazing and finished with a 1:57.5 for the indoor season. I felt strong, and was ready to run fast in the upcoming outdoor season.
When the season arrived I once again faced disappointment, and was unable to reach the times I had hoped to run at the beginning of the year. However, this time my confidence was not broken, and my motivation remained unscathed. I was able to hold my head high because of two things; two experiences with two teammates that completely changed my definition of success in track and field.
The first one of these experiences came towards the end of the indoor season after running an 800. For one of my teammates, this was his last race as he was leaving for a semester off, unsure if he would return to college or college track. After the race, I asked him if he was happy with his time. He told me, “At the end of the day, it's just a number. I felt strong during the race, and that’s all that really matters.” For the entirety of my track career, up until that point, I focused all of my energy on running fast times.
Every race I was running against the clock, and it was the clock that ultimately determined whether or not I was successful. I had never considered such a mindset as my teammate’s, and in that moment, I realized that I was ignorant in doing so. As a competitor, and a teenager, things are constantly changing. Your body changes, your mindset changes, and as a track athlete, you will never face the same conditions in a race. Every race is against different people, on a different track, at a different time, and if you are outside, with different weather.
It is unreasonable to think you will best yourself in every race, if all of these factors come into play. The fastest 800 m race I ran was on the biggest stage possible, with perfect weather, and the motivation of knowing it was my last race of the year. Those conditions are quite difficult to replicate. Had I known this before, the setback I experienced my senior year of high school would have been far less detrimental.
The second experience I had was at the last meet of my freshman year of college. I had run the open 800 in a time of 1:58, and although this was not quite as fast as I had hoped to run, I felt strong, and like my teammate had said, that’s all that really mattered. After the open 800, I ran the last event of the meet, the 4x800 m relay. I ran the first leg of the race, and was able to tough through two laps on tired legs to the handoff. I stepped off the track and turned to watch my teammates run.
All four of us were running our second race of the day, and it was evident that we were feeling the effects. The second leg of runners handed off, and then two laps later the anchor legs received their batons. I watched as our anchor leg, a graduating senior, took the first few steps of the last track race he would ever run. Although tired from his previous race, he ran strong. We watched as he came around to the final lap. The bell rang. Arms and legs pumping, and gritting his teeth, he ran his heart out. He left it all on the track. I watched as he crossed the finish line to embrace his mother, and then our coach. We were second to last in that race, but far from failure.
It was after this race that I was truly able to understand what it means to be successful in a sport like track and field. I didn’t give a damn about how fast I ran, or what our relay time was. You can never guarantee that you will be able to beat the clock. But what you can guarantee is that you will leave every ounce of your energy on that track before you cross the finish line. The time does not matter. What matters is whether or not you were the best that you could be on that given day at that given time.
If you were, the clock should never disappoint. I have accepted that I may never run as fast as I had once dreamed, and I no longer feel pressured by the ticking numbers of the timer. I will have no regrets when my time comes to hear that final bell. I will run my heart out, and leave it all the track. That’s a win. That is what defines success.
