The adobe colored track is unfamiliar — and abrasive in the midday sun. The wind rushes over the saturated surface of my skin. I do drills, anxiously awaiting a set of instructions from the official. My knees are higher than my expectations as I skip up and down the patchy infield of the University of Massachusetts at Amherst.

“…left shoulder, right hip…left shoulder, right hip…left shoulder, right hip…”

I peel the adhesive and confidently slap it to my uniform. Too bad I’ve done it the exact opposite of what was instructed but, hey what can you expect from a field athlete who is a wanna-be track runner?

Ok, let’s rewind for a minute.

…

My grip remains tight on the bar, despite the fact I had just finished my last dead lift. It’ Tuesday, or if you’re an American International College track athlete, it’s leg day.

I can feel the knot in my stomach being pulled tighter with each step I take in the direction of my coach.

Coach Nicholson is scanning workout sheets, mumbling numbers and measuring progress. The weights clash as my teammates rack them in the background.

“Can I run?” I said quickly, thinking I could catch him off guard—in the same way, you strategically ask your mom something while she’s on the phone, hoping she’ll blindly agree just so she can shoo you away.

“Why?” he poses calmly. He is still scanning workout sheets, mumbling numbers and measuring progress.

I take a breath, “Coach Nick, I could be terrible but I don’t want to look back and think ‘I wish I at least tried”

…

For some background knowledge, (you know, so you have a full scope of what’s happening in this story), I have only ever pole vaulted. Here I am, asking my Division II Track and Field coach if I can run the open 800 meter at the University of Massachusetts at Amherst.

This is far from the safety of the lush grass of the infield.

Ok, back to present time.

…

Here I am, four days after the conversation. We are the last heat of girls. The official ushers us onto the track. We disperse according to our assigned lanes.

“RUNNERS TO THEIR MARK”

“Where is the announcer anyway?” I am thinking to myself as I stare at the line

And ah, there’s the gun.

I am slow to start. Actually, slow is an understatement. I am dead last in the race for the first lap and, I mean comfortably last. I have decided to sit on the hip of my teammate (in runner’s words that means to just run right beside a person, usually using them to keep pace). I round the bend of the second lap. My body is becoming tense with each step. I am unsure of my next move. I am frantic. The stadium is erupting with noise and my head is swimming as the bell is rung, indicating the final lap.

And in my exhaustion, my brain can only deliver sober thoughts to consciousness.

“Can I run?” I remember, asking so clearly.

And just then, I am pushing so hard to make something happen. And then, something happens. It’s like that scene in Forest Gump, where he trying so desperately to get away from the boys on the bikes and then, all the sudden, his braces fall from his legs and he is sprinting like a natural born runner. Yep, that’s how I’m picturing myself me. I mean I probably look [way] less cool. But honestly, I would be smiling if I wasn’t trying so hard to suck in oxygen.

I cross the line.

My head is spinning. It feels incredible to have done something I have always wanted to do.

“Liv! That was incredible” my coach exclaims, as he hugs me.

“YOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO” how very ‘college’ of me.

And in an instant, all of my teammates are upon me; high fives, smiles and celebratory hugs.

I had one of the slowest times of the day but honestly, what can you expect from a field athlete who is a wanna-be track runner? My teammates are celebrating with me for a different reason.

The excitement has come from [doing] something that I have always wanted to [do].

The excitement comes from [finishing] something I started. (literally and metaphorically)

The excitement comes from doing something new.

…