Track & Field was important to me in high school.  I was a slightly below average sprinter, and an enthusiastic but downright marginal long jumper.  The beauty of life in a small town and small school meant that loving track was enough, I could compete without needing to be amazing.

I loved stepping into the blocks and lane 8 was best because it would be the brief moment during the 200 that I would be in front.  Happily, that is also where the slowest (or next to slowest) person belongs – so that worked out well.

I would adjust the blocks, put my feet in “just so”, set my fingers along the line, and finally take the deep breath and turn my eyes up the lane to wait.  I was olympic, I was potential embodied, I was so bad-ass.  Nothing but me, the lane, and the finish line.

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Spring is knocking around the edges, even with fresh snow on the ground we all know the truth.

I am spending this week being super grown up, getting stuff done, preparing for the end of LLV and the return to what we left behind nearly a year ago.  When I take the breath and turn my eyes up I can see the finish line from here.  I am grown, potential embodied, and so bad-ass.

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Thinking about track today reminded me of a specific meet. I was asked to do the unthinkable, I had to run a 400 in the relay.  Now the 400 is supposed to be run as an all-out sprint the whole way and then (as is true now) … that just ain’t my game.  I asked a friend of mine to stand at about 250 to yell at me (in a nice way), and he did. In that whole trip around the track he was the only one I heard.  Later I found out that a lot of folks had been yelling because we didn’t lose any ground in my 400 which was (frankly) WAY more than they had hoped for.  It is one of my favorite track memories.

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