When I was in sixth grade I was stretching on that gym floor, a time that I both hated and loved. I was very flexible and stretching was something I loved to do, but it always resulted in unwanted attention from peers. I got blamed for showing off, and was often embarrassed to stretch at all. But this day, as my body unfolded and stretched into a split I heard somebody say my name. I looked up and a teacher I didn't recognize began asking me questions about my flexibility and my experience with running. This was the beginning of my track and field career.
I was supposed to be the star hurdler-in-training in middle school. The coach believed he had struck gold with me but, really, he had not gained a record breaker -- just an average runner.
Everything went wrong that first meet. I was so scared of the gun that I froze out of fear, and forgot to run. After each hurdle, I had to stop to get my momentum back. I was a disaster, but the coach still had faith in me.
I never did hurdles again. However, I would continue to do track for the next five years. Track and I had a love-hate relationship, but it kept me in shape and healthy. I was never the star athlete, but our small team could use all the people it could get, and I enjoyed the team spirit and sense of family. By the time senior year of high school came around I didn't have time to run, but I was comfortable with ending my career as a runner.
But, as I began my college career, somehow I got roped into attending a track event on campus. This resulted in an impromptu trip to the track by myself. I can't even begin to count how many times I said, "I'm never going to run track in college.” I didn't think I was good enough, or loved it enough. I ran on my own time, but meets had always been a source of such stress and I was content being done. Yet, here I stood, looking at the track -- and I missed it.
I got in a lane and started to jog. A few laps later I picked up the pace, testing myself slowly. In high school, I was a sprinter, but I was reluctant to sprint now. I thought it would feel too real. My legs started to move faster, and I felt my chest rise and fall heavily. All of the sudden I forgot my insecurities about not being the fastest in high school, and I stopped caring about my abilities. I started sprinting around the track and I felt like I was flying. After everything I had said about hating track, here I was having the time of my life.
