The Unfair Race

Cross-country racing has no mercy when it comes to terrain, weather and competition. There are no excuses in these races because everyone deals with the same elements. There are no lanes but trails that will be even or uneven, muddy or too dry, dusty or littered with loose grass. And the rolling hills that the athlete climbs during such races laughs at the unprepared, letting them slowly crawl up its mighty crest or roll down its bumpy grain from fatigue.

I learned to accept the inevitable in these races because there was no escaping the landscapes’ ingratitude, nature’s temperament or the avenging trails. The only excuse was to run because it was an unfair race for everyone. But what’s more devastating is running when there are elements that affect judgment such as sickness, or with other runners who really play dirty…

It was on Hampton University’s cross-country team as a freshman that I learned how unforgiving these races were. In early September when the winds chill the bone, I was running in my scanty clothing with a white turtle neck as my West Coast blood complained about the inclement weather it was not used to running against. But it was a cold, chilly day for everyone, and the rains played dirty, misty tricks on us all day, creating muddy terrain and camouflaged puddles. Unfortunately, my weak body gave in; as if in rebellion, the temperature of my body rose and flu symptoms emerged early that morning. My insurgent stomached churned with sickness, and my revolting body began to shake with chills. This would be a most memorable racing experience for me running with the flu in the worst of conditions. I let my coach know ahead of time of my ailments; the only advice given was to fight through it for a little over three miles. My teammates were supportive and told me to hang in there. However, there was another enemy lurking in the shadows at this competitive invitational: our main rivals, Norfolk State. There were two upper-class athletes who were known to play dirty; I was to steer clear away from them.

As soon as the race started I was fighting two enemies: my body and the merciless trail. I befriended my mind, hoping that it would cheer me on to the end. But in the middle of the race, it was giving into the commands from my body. As I ran with my teammate, I told her I could barely hold on; she told me to try to keep going because I was almost there. I did. As we neared the 3/4^th mark, there they were, the Norfolk State girls, blocking the trail as we came upon their heels. My teammate tried to lead me pass them. I followed her to the side around them, but the mean one tried to elbow and trip her. (Please read the rest of the Producer's Corner as a FREE member of our T.R.A.C.K. Live! community blog. Sign up by clicking here.)

Giving up the easy way.

They say that giving up is the easy way, the easy way to say “I failed.”

During my high school years, I switched to a well-known private school in San Jose, CA to compete at a higher level in track & field and all sports. I remember how good that sounded: switching to another school so that I could compete with very competitive athletes, after all this should be easy, I thought, since I had a natural athletic talent. I didn’t know how surprised I would be until the first day of track practice at my new school: I remember the stigma of having to run 10 X 400m, very fast, no breaks. My ego was telling me I couldn’t do it, and that the coach and athletes at this school were crazy. My new teammates tried to encourage me and told me to block the throbbing pain in my legs out of my mind and just run. I could tell they were trying to tolerate me with little patience—they didn’t have time to deal with weak failures.

So what did I do? I walked off the track, gave up, and told myself and the coach I couldn’t do it and that the workouts were insane. I convinced myself that I had to be right, for no one in their right mind would endure such pain—no way! It wasn’t the way I was used to training.

Needless to say, it was a severe reality check—if I wanted to be a part of the best then I had to learn to run and train with and be like the best. What a horrible experience that taught me a valuable lesson…
The next day, I humbled my ego—(come join our FREE membership at tracklive.us and read the rest of this "Producer's Corner #2" free always!)

An invincible way of thinking...

In the scorching summer gazes on the porch, age 5 at my grandmothers’ house, this was an invincible time for me. I was determined to fly like the great superheroes in my morning cartoon watching that engaged my mind’s eye—even the noisy swamp cooler was an irrelevant distraction.

The cousins and I were all there, eager to get into something … From my grandmother’s linen closet, we would grab the longest flowing towels we could find, wrap it around our necks and jump off the porch hoping the wind would carry us along. This was a thrill not to seek, but a thrill to jump into, for broken legs were never a thought for any of us— we were super heroes; we were invincible.

When I think back today of those moments which affect me now, I still jump off porches, knowing that the wind is going to carry me, as far as I want to go. I never realized that during the T.R.A.C.K. Live! production which started off...(This entry is continued on the member's blog at www.tracklive.us. Membership is free!)