The Race

I sling my spikes over my right shoulder and shuffle to the starting line for the 200-yard dash. Not even thirty minutes before this, Coach had asked me to run the event. It was not one I'd ever run and was seriously anxious about it.

Suuure, Mia has 'horrible cramps.' It was more like she had the Irish Flu.

My best friend, Andi, tagged along with me, giving me words of encouragement and that strangely obligatory quick smack on the ass as we got to where the other girls were. My running mates were already stretching. The sky was growing darker by the minute. The pink and orange blaze of sunset had passed and nightfall had begun to blanket us. Then, the bright stadium lights came on, making it brighter than the daylight that had preceded it. Fat moths attacked the stadium lights. Occasionally you could hear a THWACK as one decided to go all kamikaze on it. A slight warm breeze lifted the hair from my sticky neck, giving me a momentary reprieve from the oppressive Texas heat.

“What the actual fuck, A, they can’t just expect me to sub in for someone for a race I’ve never run before! Mia is sick! Right, it couldn't have been that Captain Morgan's she was sucking on all last night, I told her that 'The Captain' was nothing more than coconut-flavored puke juice... stupid bitch! I say, my hands gesticulating wildly as I talk.

“I know but-- you’re gonna do fine, T! You’ve got this. It’s just like the 100-yard dash… only longer... and there's a curve. But-- you’ve totally got this! Seriously!”

“If you tell me I’ve got this one more time I might slap the braces right out of your fuckin' mouth!”

“Pfft. Whatever, Bitch, I’d just slap that bitchy face offa your face. Dude, just know that I’m out there, running alongside you, cheerin' your ass on. I'm here no matter how it turns out” Andi said reaching up to offer me a high five.

"Just... don't feel like you have to slap it like you're servin' a damn volleyball!" I swing. Our hands miss one another completely.

We giggle as only two best friends can.

"I love you, A."

"You too, T!"

"I hope that's not some type of fucking omen like I'm going to break my leg or fall on my face and just leave it smudged down the last fifty yards, or something."

We collapse into giggles again. Andi snorts. This causes more raucous laughter.

"Andi, I didn't even want to be in track, I just really didn't want to get sent to P.E. where they are learning to roll balls to each other, or some bullshit and I DEFINITELY didn't want to be in Off-Season and have run Suicides on the court or the football field all season." I rolled my eyes dramatically.

Obviously, I was not big into track and had only joined the team so that I could stay in Athletics, rather than risk getting transferred to P.E. with the social rejects. Since they had to put me in some event or another; I found myself competing in the 100-yard dash, the long- jump, shot-put, and discus. It was far more than I'd anticipated but they needed more girls on the team and just didn't have them.

I was really... shitty at discus. It was all that whirlin' and twirlin' before you actually threw the damned thing that really fucked me up. I was decent at shot-put since we did a lot of strength training on our thighs and upper bodies in volleyball to excel in serving, jumping, and blocking. I could chunk that heavy-ass little ball of lead pretty far. I never placed or anything... but I gave it a shot.

Once that season, I had surprised Coach and myself and had taken second place in the long jump. It must have been all of those two-a-day practices on the sand volleyball court. Nothing builds those leg muscles like two hours of running and jumping in the sand! I missed volleyball! I was mediocre at best at basketball. I was the B-String point guard. I was terrified to have possession of the ball and, as such, hustled my ass down the court so I could pass it as soon as I could manage. I tended to just glide in the middle in basketball. Not being noticed was just peachy with me!

The event in track that everyone really watched was the 4-by-4 relay. It was a big event. It was the race to watch. It was comprised of the best of the best. Four runners made up the team and each ran 100 yards before handing off the baton to the next person who then ran 100 yards, until they handed the baton off, and so on, until 400 yards had been run.

I was accustomed to being the top dog, or at least one of them in volleyball. I was outstanding. I really feel that if I had not discovered sex, drugs, and well, booze and more sex—I might have even gotten a scholarship.

At the end of my freshman year, I was working on my jump serve, and it was going well. My over-handed serve was lethal. I could hone in on the weakest link on the opposing team and send it straight at them or direct the serve to where I felt there was a hole in their defense. I even got some one-on-one coaching with that.

I sit down on the grass on the field to take off my Chucks and put on my spikes. My hands shake slightly as I lace them up. I took a deep, steadying breath. I could do this. I was going to beat these bitches and be the one to burst through that ugly pink tape at the finish line!

In addition to encouraging me as she followed my race from the field, Andi was going to sit behind me and using her feet, hold the starting blocks in place as I got into position to run. The starting official had assigned me to Lane 6; the farthest away from the field, Lane 7 was strangely empty. This was going to be interesting. I stretched and jumped up and down a few times to pep myself up. The other runners were getting in their lanes and practicing coming out of the starting blocks and running a few paces.

I decided to do the same. I put my left foot on the furthest block back and my right on the closest block, lean down, spread my shoulders equidistant apart, and put my fingertips, spread slightly and rigid, just near the starting line. Andi was sitting in her track uniform on the uncomfortable synthetic track surface but she had me, her feet firmly planted on the opposite side of the starting blocks.

"Thanks for doing this!"

"No prob! There's nowhere I'd rather be, Sista!"

Andi winks at me from between my knees. I wink back.

I take another deep breath and blast from my crouched position. I run about 10-yards. I practice a few more times just to get the feel of it. Then I saw the Starting Official approaching with the starting gun. It was time.

A whistle blew a short, shrill blast. The Official came and set us up, he staggered us as we fanned out with my lane being the furthest ahead while the chick in Lane 1 seemed to be back where I thought the starting line was. The ref points to a dash mark on the track that would be my starting line. I wasn’t sure why we were staggered like this and frankly, I felt like I didn't really know what the fuck I was doing. Fucking, Mia! I just wanted to run like the fuckin' wind and get this over with already!

I crouched back down into the starting blocks, and carefully placed my fingertips right by the official start line for my lane, I stared straight ahead at the curve of the track that then led to the straightaway and, though I couldn't see it, on to the finish line.

I could do this! I closed my eyes briefly and sent up a little prayer that I would be the one to burst through that fucking pink tape. Come on. Come on. Come on. I willed the guy to start this already so my heart could crawl out of my throat.

“On your mark!”

At that, I rose from my crouch with my butt in the air, ready to explode out of the starting blocks and run like I was being chased by a carnivorous dinosaur or something.

“Come on, T! You’ve got this!” Andi whispered from behind me.

“Set!”

Oh, shit, oh shit, oh, shit!

At the word GO, the starting gun fired and I burst out of the starting blocks and took off at a dead sprint. My heart was thrumming in my ears, my breaths were coming quick, and my thighs quickly began to burn. I tried to slow my breathing and pressed on. I was in the lead and wanted it to stay that way.

Ignoring the intense burning in my thighs and calves, I rounded the top of the track and there it was! Roughly 100 yards away was… the finish line!

I am going to freakin' win this shit!

As I came around the curve of the track and was facing the start of the straight-away, I gradually begin to cut inward, crossing Lanes 5,4,3,2 and then settle in Lane 1. I ran my heart out on the straight-away and my God, could this be real? I swear I could hear, "Eye of the Tiger," playing in my head, like my own soundtrack. I lifted my arms in triumph and broke through the pink tape as I had envisioned! I was the winner! I grinned, hugely.

“Runner… DISQUALIFIED!” shouted the Timekeeper Official.

I stumbled onto the football field, arms stretched above my head, a stitch forming in my left side. I looked at Andi.

“What? Why? I fucking won!”

"No, Tara. You got disqualified for cutting lanes. I was shouting at you to get back in your lane! Didn't you hear me?"

"No. I thought you were cheering me on..."

I saw Coach ambling over. She fell into step beside me as I tried to slow my breathing and cool down. She was smiling broadly.

“Coach, what the hell? They disqualified me… I didn't know! That's not fair!"” I said between gasps. I was incensed. I hadn’t asked to run this race—but I did and I should have won!

“Aw, Andrews… What am I going to do with you?” She laughed. She actually laughed! I damn near combusted right there.

“I don’t see what’s so funny?” Hot tears began to burn my eyes. I was apoplectic with rage.

“Andrews! You cut lanes! You’re supposed to stay in your own lane! That’s why you were staggered the way you were!”

“But... all the other runners,” I point at Andi, “do it!”

“Andrews, they are distance runners. It’s different.”

Andi was giggling behind her hand; I glared at her. Coach was laughing so hard, she bent at the waist for a moment. Random people around us who had witnessed the fiasco stood around, looking at me and laughing.

My face burned crimson and I stared at the ground, big, hot tears now coming fast out of sheer embarrassment. Coach threw her arm around me and told me this particular race was definitely going to be the stuff of legend.

I suppose I wanted a race to be remembered-- just not as the idiot who cut clear across all of the lanes of the track and dashed, smiling the smile of a victor, for disqualification!.

Go, Me…