A Dripping Time Trial

By: Lucas Nudelman

Waking up to rain splashing on the roof of my house, as it had been doing since the previous night, I knew that the meet would probably be canceled and we would just be holding an intra-squad race. I took a look outside at the dreary weather, and then stood amongst the scattered articles of running gear in my room, and I wondered if it was all worth it. I snapped out of my trance, scrambled to gather all the gear I needed, and rushed out the door to catch the ride waiting in my driveway. I arrived slightly late to practice, but it went unnoticed because the team meeting hadn’t started yet as people were still strolling in. The meeting began and Coach shared the daily announcements with us. We procrastinated a bit before driving over to the track at Wolters Field.

We began our warm-up as a team and in a few minutes the group had spread further and further apart, I decided I was only going to go one and a half miles for the warm-up. Most guys either did one or two miles, but for some reason one and a half seemed just right for me. I started the three quarter mile trek back to the track, my shoes were becoming increasingly soggy from the puddles and the rain that was producing them. I wasn’t looking forward to the race, it was raining, cold, and I wasn’t feeling ready in the least bit. My legs felt like no one had told them it was time to run, and they were still at home sleeping in my bed. My stomach was at unease, I hadn’t eaten anything this morning and the grumbling turned into a feeling that was border lining on sickness. I began dreading even more having to push my body through a half mile race. A cold breeze began circulating around me, and I was grateful for my sweat suit, and dreading when I would have to strip out of it.

 I arrived back at the track to be informed that I would be in the slow heat of the eight hundred meter race, this isn’t to say that I wouldn’t have competition though. I did my stride-outs, stretched and laced up my spikes. I wanted to get this race over with and be able to take refuge inside the heated building once more. Following the conclusion of the hundred meter races, we began lining up for our race. We shed our warm-up gear and this only intensified the frigidness and wetness I was feeling. Coach didn’t have a starting gun so it was on a ready-set-go system. On the word ‘ready’ I cleared my mind of all the sounds going on around me, from the splashes of raindrops on the track to the sound of my teammates adjusting their racing uniforms. On ‘set’ I stepped up to the line and on ‘go’ I bolted off. The first lap had passed by, and I heard footsteps that I assumed could only be Jordan’s at my heels. The rain seemed to pick up just a bit, and the thin singlet and short-shorts I was wearing served as no protection from the cold breeze that penetrated my uniform to chill my soaked body. Two hundred meters were left, and my legs began to give out under me, It became clear that I wouldn’t be able to sustain any sort of decent pace for very much longer. I gave it all I had, as my legs began tightening up, and my stride began to constrict from the impact they had endured in the last two minutes or so. I stumbled across the finish line, too consumed by respiratory distress to feel any sort of joy from actually finishing the race.  We were all huffing and puffing and struggling to stay standing as gravity accompanied with exhaustion pulled us downwards toward the earth. I walked to Jordan, amidst the competition of it, I grasp him with my arms, engaging him in a hug. We stood there for maybe ten seconds, ten seconds that seemed far longer. I supported him as he did the same for me. An embrace that was only sound-tracked by each of our heavy breathing. On a Saturday morning when most other high school students were still sleeping, we were two exhausted boys sharing a wet hug in the freezing rain, and there was no place I would have rather been.