Track & Field
Let me take you back to second grade—a time when recess was the highlight of the day and math was still, well, doable. That's when me PE teacher spotted me on the field and thought, "This kid's built for speed." Maybe it was my long legs, or maybe the dude was a talent scout in disguise, who knows? But boom! He nudged me into the world of track and field. And would you believe it? My first race ever, the 100m, I smoked it! Felt like I was floating on air, y'know? For the next several years, I dabbled in everything from the 200m to 800m to relays. And even pushing it to high jumps, long jumps, shot put, and javelin throws (all of this which I sucked at).
Sprinting is like, Imagine being coiled up like a spring at the starting line. The anticipation in the air is thick, almost suffocating. Your muscles are tensed, and your eyes are locked onto the track ahead. The world fades into a blur; it's just you and that stretch of earth in front of you. And then, BANG! The starting gun goes off, and you explode. You might think it sounds overly poetic, but anyone who's experienced it knows what I'm talking about. It's not just a sport; it's a form of self-expression, a physical manifestation of your willpower, determination, and passion. It's not just running; it's flying without wings, soaring without leaving the ground. And yeah, that might be over-the-top, but hey, if you've felt that magic, you know there's really no other way to describe it.
The wildest part? I switched schools three times over eight years but never lost a race on track. Except for relays, it was a different ball game because, let's be honest, you're only as fast as your slowest teammate. Then came high school. It was my second last year, and I was vibing, like always, before the annual championship races. But that day? Oof, I got schooled. Enter this new guy, a transfer, and me junior, who swooped in and snagged gold in the 100m, 200m, and 400m. And let me tell you, this dude was FAST. Like, make-you-question-your-entire-existence fast. I won’t lie, I was salty as hell, straight-up hated the guy. Yeah, I know, sports can mess with your head. But here's where the plot twists. The very next day, fate teamed us up in a relay. Had to put my bruised ego aside and work with Mr. Speedy Gonzales. And guess what? We won! Even better, spending a day with the dude made me realize he was chill as hell. So, there it was—a life lesson served on a running track—my very early encounters of never be too quick to judge.
So what happened after that? Well, I had to skip the next year's races for personal stuff. And by the time college rolled around, my interests had shifted to other sports, which limited in me racing competitively. These days I am into a bit of longer runs, but every so often, I'll bust out a sprint, just to feel that old magic.
