“My Forever Moment”
BY: Zac Garrard
Mark Rowe, my cross country and distance coach, is known to preach to make “forever moments” occur in nearly every race or situation in our lives. A moment that one will never forget, that will be remembered for the rest of one’s life. Ironically, before yesterday’s 1600 meter race, he predicted I would experience my very own “forever moment;” implying that I would race extremely well. He never could have predicted…no one would have expected a more dramatic finish to my final 1600 meter run of the 2011 track season.
In my final week of school, in the midst of finals, making summer plans with friends, and just leading a typical teenage life one thought resided in my mind at all times. The mile race at state. Gifted with speed, I’d say am decent half miler, but my true love resides in that race of four laps of pain and glory. A race that is long enough to push a man to his limits, nearly sprinting majority of the race, determining who not only possesses the most guts, but also the gas tank to endure the pain. Therefore, my entire focus for this year’s state meet was directed on the 1600 meter. I knew the field would be strong, but after my experience at the Dream Mile, I had a feeling that my chances of pulling off something spectacular were actually achievable. With enough determination it would be possible to pose a threat for the title, a dream of mine since I joined the sport.
Entering the race with confidence from my past few weeks of racing, as well as veteran experience at the State Meet being my third straight trip for track, nerves weren’t at the top of my worries, but rather the fact that I had yet to formulate a race strategy. In most cases, I spend days visualizing my every move of key races, researching my competitions personal best times, their average time for the season, anything that can give me an advantage as to understand their racing instincts. But, for some reason it seemed near impossible to determine what tactics I wanted to pursue in what could be my breakthrough race. As a sophomore in the state of Kentucky, it is extremely difficult to stand out as an elite competitor, with presences like Tretez Kinnaird, Jacob Thomson, and Connor Sheryak, not to mention the upper classmen. I was looking towards this race being my possible New Balance emerging elite mile qualifier, my defining moment as a runner, or simply a race that will instill my name in the minds of people. What seemed to be everything to me, dwelled upon this one race, and I was unwavering in my mission to accomplish what I set out to do. Maybe, as I look back on it, I put too much pressure on myself. I’m only a sophomore, yet, I held myself to such high standards, that many people would be happy to settle for less.
I wanted to win, simple as that. If I executed my plan it might be possible, hypothetically, I could return home a state champion. Friday night while in my hotel room, my brain processed a multitude of possibilities on how the race my result. Stuart could go out easy, wait for a kick to save himself for his other events. He could go out blazing from the gun like the Dream Mile or the Mobile Meet of Champions. Carter may set the tone or maybe Gregory. Hell, I imagined everything. Ideally, I visualized myself, Justin, Patrick, and Austin directly on Andrew’s heels with 600 meters to go, and then there was me taking off leaving everything and everyone behind closing the last quarter in sub-60 to claim a state title. All of these thoughts circulated through my mind, but I still couldn’t grasp the calamity of the race.
As I developed as a runner this season, I realized that a mile race isn’t very complicated or complex. The first lap is just there to complete the distance; it’s not particularly tiring since adrenaline absorbs most of the pain. There to determine who is in the hunt for the win, or crazy enough to go out leading for a lap. Lap two is when the men are separated from the boys, the honesty of the pace gets to people as they either maintain in the front or fade to the second pack. The third lap, my personal favorite, is when the racing truly begins. Nearly the entire field can run the pace with leaders for the first 800 meters, but the third lap is the breaking point in which the body begins to build up lactic acid or can’t handle the pain anymore. Therefore, the most strategic moves can be made during this time when most people are recharging for a last lap charge. And lastly, the fourth and final lap, the lap that passes in a flash, where instinct takes over and adrenaline escalates to a peak. With this understanding I have outlined my typical race strategy: first lap establish presence, second lap rest and maintain, third lap surge and make up ground on the leaders, and fourth lap lay it all on the line and just go. By following this usually the last lap would be my fastest and the lap in which glory was attainted.
When the gun went off, I was prepared to go to war. My mind was right and the conditions were ideal, now all that was required was to follow my race strategy and something magical might happen. In all honesty my race strategy was to maintain a close distance with Andrew Stuart, but if he began to pull away sit on Patrick Gregory and wait for the last lap. I was determined that I wouldn’t let a freshman get the better hand of me. I believed that a 60-62 last lap would be quick enough to break anyone drafting on me and secure my current position. The first lap went by quickly without any distinct characteristics; Stuart was leading with Carter on his tail while Patrick and I patiently followed. No one yelled our splits at the corner, so I glanced up at the score board to see for myself, but the clock wasn’t started so my efforts were futile. I felt great, my stride was feeling fluid and smooth as if I could maintain the pace forever; however, for a brief second I let my mind wonder and a 2 or 3 meter gap appeared between me and the group. So I snapped back into racing and that would be the last time I would lose concentration. Surprisingly I completed the first half of the race without any struggles or exhaustion, but with the beginning of lap three I knew it was time to start gearing up for the end of the race. I recall seeing Austin’s form begin to fade and his shoulders tighten up on the back straight away, and Patrick seemed to be content with sitting on his shoulder rather than making a surge of his own. At this point I realized my competition was near exhausted and drained; my opportunity became apparent on the home stretch of that third lap.
There’s a point in every race in which an athlete will reach the decision whether or not to make that gutsy move and lay it all on the line. Mine was on the homestretch, crowd cheering thunderously, with 450 meters left to go. I swung to lane two, came up to Patrick’s shoulder, and then I just took off. Burning all cylinders, I believed that I was on route to my 60 second last lap. Pressing hard on the gas, my intentions were to simply run away from the competition for fear of being too exhausted if the race developed into a kicker’s race. In most cases, the final backstretch seems to always be an eternity, but for some reason that back stretch appeared to pass by so quickly I hardly remember much of that point in the race. It might be attributed to the fact that I was running as fast as I thought or I was fading in and out of consciousness, who knows. But with 200 meters to go I glanced back out of fear that someone may be creeping up on my shoulder. In countless races this season, Justin House has outkicked me with 200 to go, so I was almost expecting to see a figure performing the very same routine. However, no such figure existed. My goal was attained; I had gapped Patrick and Austin, and finishing in strong fashion. Working the curb, the final stretch appeared itself and my legs were moving their way towards the end of a fantastic season. I glanced back one more time, just out of nervousness and saw I had about a 20 meter gap. Then looking forward to witness Andrew cross the line, “State runner-up” entered my mind, and next thing I’m down on the ground.
Like many distance runners, Steve Prefontaine is my hero, idol, role model. I remember the first time I saw the movie Prefontaine; it was my 5th grade year, the Thursday before elementary school state meet at Masterson Station, and I was awestruck by this man’s amazing story. Brought to tears when I realized the man who I could look up to died in his prime, I was determined to run like Pre in hopes that one day I may follow in his footsteps. This dream and mantra holds true still to this day. In races, I don’t necessarily feel the urge to lead from the gun like Pre, but no matter what I give all that I have and nothing less. “To give anything less than your best is to sacrifice the gift.” Pre’s renowned quote has influenced the way I race and train for several years now, and after every race I feel satisfaction knowing that I gave my best at that given time. My dad lectures to, “leave it all on the track,” and often has to escort me back to the tent after a race since I’m always drained. I’m notorious to throw up after every race; this habit isn’t necessarily attributed to my diet, but the fact that in every race I push my body through so much pain that my body feels the option is to rid itself of all impurities. This characteristic defines me as an athlete, that I’m willing to go through hell and back to not just win a race, but to prove to myself that it was my best effort.
Glancing back dazed, Patrick entered my line of vision and flashed pass me as I scrambled to gather myself and rise back to my feet. I heard nothing, everything was droned out, as my brain screamed “GET UP!” Rising to my feet, each leg lurched forward out of rhythm and uncontrollably. As if I was a newborn learning to walk, each step seemed impossible and the finish appeared to be 100 yards away. I don’t recall how I managed to finish the race, but I’m glad I did. To have worked so hard to lose it all because some freak accident would be absolutely depressing. Finishing was a necessity.
•••
Spending the next 45 minutes fading in and out of lucid thought, separated between vomiting and attempting to hold down liquids, my mind raced attempting to analyze what truly occurred. Predominantly questioning,” How and why did I fall?” My laces were tied securely, I know for a fact I didn’t stumble over my own feet, there shouldn’t have been a hole in the track. All thoughts processed as I searched for disclosure for this accident. Vaguely, I remember standing to receive my medal, but the action brought more pain to me than the very race I had just completed. Pain attributed of being emotional distraught and literal physical pain as I experienced a splitting head ache. The next several minutes weren’t much less than a blur. I was escorted to my parents, then to the trainer, then being interviewed by a reporter, and then finally the calamity of the situation dawned on me.
As I reached the team tent, everything became clear to me as if it were a painting or movie. I had just run the race of my life only to have it tarnished by a simple stumble. Slowly, I began to sob. Then all my emotions poured out, I wept from heartache. My dream to be recognized as one of the state’s great runners was destroyed. Not as a result from lack of talent, endurance, physical or mental preparation. Not as a result that the competition had out raced me or was far more talented. But the fact that my body failed me. The very being that I spent all year training and preparing for this pain abandoned me in my moment. I’ve been told that my legs just simply didn’t move when I fell. One moment there is knee lift, leg extension, foot planting, and then it just shut down. Nothing could have been to avoid it my legs simply gave out. I had truly pushed my body to its limit and it lashed back at me as I neared the finish. I wept because I had executed a race strategy and plan that I considered perfect only to have it stopped by a freak accident.
My family, friends, coaches, even complete strangers complimented me for my race and the courage it took to finish, but I felt ever so empty inside. Coach Rowe commented that I have no reason to be disappointed with myself that there was nothing I could have done, but I must admit disappointment was exactly what I felt. I’m not angry at myself or anyone; I’m simply disappointed that was unable to complete the race in the same way in which I ran it.
I tell this story not in search of pity, but rather to display the type of effort a distance runner must display on a daily basis. A great person is determined by their ability to face adversity and combat the obstacles that are presented in their life. Therefore, I intend to merely accept the events that occurred Saturday, and use my feelings as disappointment as a fuel for the fire of my determination. Learning from my mistakes, I will prepare myself even more diligently for the next two years I have in my career.
I respect all of my fellow athletes that ran in that race, and would like to congratulate Andrew Stuart with his state title. More specifically, I would like to express my respect for Patrick Gregory. In midst of my confusion, I recall him speaking to me, apologizing for having to pass me after I had fallen and that I had ran a great race. It means a great deal to me that my race did not go overlooked by one of my competitors especially since he felt sorry for reaping the benefits of my faltering.
I shall never forget this race and the events that surrounded it. This will always remain one of my “forever moments.”