The Spirit of the Track Tape

Once a treasured keepsake, my casing now bears the marks of time, my label a ghost of its former self, the letters faded and nearly unintelligible. In my reels lie a trove of memories, precious and untouched, now abandoned in the shadowy corners of an old attic. If only someone would find a way to listen to me once again.

My casing once a bright red, now more a faded rose, was marked with the handwritten title: "Track Team Jams ‘88." I was created out of laughter, vitality, and a fierce desire to motivate and inspire, by three inseparable friends: Alice, Amy, and Beth. High school juniors bonded together by their love for running, friendship, and the dream of winning their division championship.

The girls fashioned me one late spring evening in Alice’s basement. The air buzzed with anticipation and excitement as they spread a pile of albums, cassette singles, and blank tapes on the carpet around them. Alice manned the dual-deck recorder, Amy scribbled track names onto my label with a BIC 4-color ballpoint pen alternating colors for each track, and Beth danced around, humming snippets of songs to try out for inclusion. Every track they selected conveyed a purpose: to energize, motivate, and unify their track team on those long, hot, bumpy bus rides to away meets.

"Eye of the Tiger!" Alice screeched, sliding the Survivor single into the deck. The opening beats thundered through the basement, and the girls cheered.

"That has to be the first track," Amy said, beaming as she wrote it down.

"Like, for sure!" Beth added, still dancing, her blonde ponytail flipping around her, the hot pink scrunchy holding fast to the teased wonder, "We totally need something completely epic to start us off."

From there, the mix grew: Queen’s "We Will Rock You," Whitney Houston’s "I Wanna Dance with Somebody," and Pat Benatar’s "Hit Me with Your Best Shot." They debated the inclusion of slower songs—Beth argued for Madonna’s "Live to Tell," while Amy protested, insisting it wasn’t "pump-up" enough. Alice, pulling up her neon yellow leg warmers, compromised by adding Fleetwood Mac’s "Don’t Stop” and Whitney Houston’s "Greatest Love of All" as a mid-tape breather.

After hours of giggles, girlish squeals, pizza, and Pepsi, my reels were filled with the soundtrack of their shared ambitions. They laughed as they played me back, reenacting each air-guitar riff and karaoke moment. I wasn’t just a tape; I was their anthem, their battle cry, and their heart.

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I remember the first time I came alive! It was on a crisp Saturday morning in early April, and the entire track team was assembled on the bus, smelling of sweat and sunscreen, the windows fogged from their breath as they huddled against the chilly air. Alice popped me into the portable boombox, and as the opening chords of "Eye of the Tiger" blared, the bus erupted into cheers.

"This is it!" Beth shouted over the music, her voice brimming with confidence. "This is our year!"

As the miles rolled by, I worked my magic as the team sang along, clapping to the beat and tapping their feet against the floor. By the time "We Will Rock You" came on, they were stomping in unison, the vibrations echoing through the bus. Even the quieter members joined in, their shyness melting away in the camaraderie.

Over the weeks, I grew into more than just a fun interlude, I became a ritual. Before every competition, they played me from start to finish, the music energizing them like a battery. I watched them grow in their confidence, becoming stronger, and faster.

Their cheers continued to resonate, and their bonds grew stronger. I was an introduction to new friendships with teammates, as they cheered together, sang together, and shared in inspiration. I was there when Alice set a new personal best in the 400 meters, when Amy overcame her fear of hurdles, and when Beth led the 4x400 relay team to victory.

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But time, like seasons, is fleeting. Senior year arrived, bringing with it the bittersweet knowledge that things would soon change. The girls added a few new tracks to my reels that year—Tina Turner’s "Simply the Best", "Higher Ground" by Red Hot Chili Peppers, and "I’m Still Standing" by Elton John, the added scrawl of ’89 to the title label, but the essence of who I was remained the same.

Their final meet was a chilly day in late May. The girls sat together on the bus ride home, their medals glinting in the fading sunlight. Alice leaned her head against the window, Amy rested her feet on the seat in front of her, and Beth flipped through the pages of a yearbook.

"We’ll always have this," Alice said softly as the final track on my reel played. "No matter where we go, or what we do, we’ll always have this tape."

"And each other," Amy added, her voice steady.

Beth didn’t say anything, but she reached over and grabbed their hands, squeezing tightly.

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After graduation, the three girls went their separate ways. Alice moved to Colorado, Amy to California, and Beth stayed in Arizona for college after receiving a full-track scholarship. I stayed behind, forgotten in a box labeled “High School Stuff” buried in Alice’s closet. The years passed swiftly and silently. My reels stiffened with age, dust gathered on my casing, and I wondered if I’d ever spin again. Would they ever remember the way I made them feel?

One day, the lid of the old shoebox finally came off! For the first time in decades, light-flooded over me. Alice, now a wife, and mother of 3 of her own teenagers, had returned to clear out her things from her parents’ house. They were downsizing and she was there to assist them with their move. She picked me up, a gentle laugh slipping from her lips as she read my label. "Track Team Jams ‘88/89," she murmured, turning me over in her hands. "Wow."

She found an old cassette player in the attic and gently placed me inside. With a click and a hiss, I came alive once more. The familiar strains of "Eye of the Tiger" filled the room, and Alice’s laughter turned into tears. She sat on the floor, the memories washing over her.

Later that evening, she called Amy and Beth. They laughed and cried over the phone, reminiscing about their high school days. By the end of the week, they had planned a reunion.

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The three women reunited in Tucson, sitting around Alice’s parent’s living room with glasses of wine and a full charcuterie platter spread before them. Alice had set me lovingly on display next to the old boombox, placed prominently on the coffee table.  Alice lifted me up and, with a wide grin held me up for the others to see.

“Look at this!” Alice said, her voice a mix of wonder and nostalgia. “Can you believe I found this old cassette? It’s our running mix from senior year!”

“Oh my gosh, no way!” Beth exclaimed, leaning forward to get a better look. “I thought that thing was lost forever!”

Amy laughed, reaching for her wine glass. “I remember we used to blast this on every bus ride. It was our anthem!”

“Well,” Alice said, turning toward the coffee table where the old boombox sat waiting, “I cleaned this up just for tonight. Let’s see if we can remember how to sing these old songs!”

The women exchanged gleeful looks as Alice carefully placed me into the boombox and pressed play. A familiar crackle filled the air before the first notes of their favorite song began to play.

“Oh my Gosh, this takes me back!” Beth said, clapping her hands.

“Remember that time we broke into song during the meet and got the entire bus singing along?” Amy asked, laughing so hard she could barely speak.

As my songs played, they sang, danced, and laughed like they were seventeen again. For one night, time stood still, and I was once again the heartbeat of their friendship.

When the night ended, Alice placed me on a shelf in her home office, a place of honor among her mementos. I’m no longer forgotten. I may never power a bus full of athletes again, but my songs still carry the echoes of that time—friendship, inspiration, and the joy of running toward something greater than yourself.