Glorious Victories and Agonizing Defeats

Few sights trigger such a sudden onslaught of memories as that of the school track. From the day I first set foot on it to my view of it today, so much has changed it is almost unreal. I have undergone a complete transformation from the budding young athlete to, in a sense, the wise old man who looks outside his mildew-edged window to gaze upon those special places he once triumphed over, and longs to relive the glory days. On the occasion it brings a tear to the eye.
At first glance it is really not a lot to look at: this beige-colored gravel in a sleepy ellipse, a football field within it, does not capture the eye as a painted museum exterior or a particularly well-constructed monument would. Rather it suggests an air of humility, and the natural quality of the gravel and the grass is comforting. But in the air is that intangible tension, the aura of heated training, of steady improvement, of team unity, of intense competition, of glorious victory and agonizing defeat. The beauty of a running track is not to be seen in its physical being but in the runners, whose feet pound mercilessly upon it during the spring season, the hours spent building up strength and endurance, and the perpetual pursuit of being the first one to break the tape that marks the finish line. The spirit, more than the appearance, is what the track is all about.
For me the spirit of the track brings pain and sorrow into my heart, the very reason for said pain. I was diagnosed in junior high school with a rare heart condition and it cut short my newfound love for running. There is really no other feeling that can compare to the freedom and determination during a hundred-meter sprint, and every time I see the track it reminds me of that feeling—clearing my entire mind, staring down my lane, pouring all my energy into trying to beat my competitors—but also of the grim fact that I can never experience that as far as I know.
It cannot be overlooked that the counterparts of the track fit together nicely with its open atmosphere. Even during the off season, the announcements made by commentators in the small structure in the home bleachers seem to echo casually in the air, just another part of that competitive spirit. The snack bar is a nocturnal animal; it reaches out on game nights with the aromatic scents of classic sporting event foods. Even the small dirt areas off to the sides have a purpose. They hold within them the places where new friends are made and old friends are visited at football games against rival schools and after-school practices. Although native to runners, the track has something in it for every kind of person.
However, athletes see this sacred battleground of theirs in a different light than other people. They look at the track as a reminder of cherished memories, and hated memories as well. There on the far side of the track, where the straightaway meets the curve, is the place where one runner may have broken the finish line tape at his first meet. Up in the bleachers a young pole vaulter may have waited in absolute fear for her name to be called, only to break her record by several inches. And of course there is the long jump area, a strip that stretches just long enough to make it nerve-wracking, and then that sand pit, the perilous landing site that tries to pull each long jumper’s rear foot backwards and cost them several feet on their score. The bittersweet brew of a track team member builds character and provides inspiring stories that can last generations.

On the occasion an older jogger or a couple walking can be observed on the track. In this sense it is a symbol of flexibility and agelessness; even the folks who are no longer in high school can take part in the peaceful presence of the track, perhaps reminiscing in the days when they were in high school and were athletes themselves. What I love about our school’s track is that it welcomes not only track and field members but also solid football players and brutal coaches and fans from other schools and families of athletes and joggers of any age and a teenager with a heart condition who longs to be a part of the track’s extended family.
Admittedly there is not much to observe at the track when there is no sport event under way. But that is also what makes the track so different. It can be described by the type of turf it has, or by its size, or how well track spikes get traction on it, or how many other track events it can play host to, but it’s the collective experience of the community that uses it that really makes for a subject of observation. I am inspired by the track for its versatility, and although it brings me more bad memories than good I can never get away from the thought of it. Decades from now I may have forgotten what the track looks like, but the memories I have made there will never leave me.
-Robby