It was a brisk Saturday morning at Woodbridge High School in Irvine, California. The starting line for the Varsity race was full of girls doing their warm-ups, jumping up and down like caged monkeys, doing run-ups to their coaches, and me, trying to stay calm, but holding back vomit. That was pretty much my tradition. Go to the starting line, appear calm on the outside, but feel like dying of a heart attack on the inside. I ran to compete, and I was pretty good. I kind of hated each race, but I loved the finish. That was my time to relax and be calm, until the next meet. Mom and Pop were really proud, and they made sure to encourage me at all times. Carbo-loading dinners, weekend training schedules, full-priced Nikes, and they never missed a race. I did love running, but I’m not sure why I raced. I sometimes ran hard just to avoid feeling guilty or embarrassed for not being the best. For a time, I was the one to beat.
When I started college, things were different. I went from being the leader to being the second slowest runner on the team. There I stood, a scared little girl surrounded by experienced, dedicated, serious runner women. It was intimidating. We used to try and cut out on our runs in high school, or have orange fights in the groves, but not these chicks; they were serious. Needless to say, I didn’t enjoy my time. I ran a season, and quit before the start of track. I wanted a break.
My brief hiatus from competition was a shock to my system. I felt like a fish out of water, suddenly without a team and others to hold me accountable to a workout regimen. I gained weight. I slowed down. My sense of self as a strong and capable person was damaged. I was no longer the one to beat.
By the spring I was15 pounds heavier, and not happy in Irvine. My transfer back to Riverside was already in the works. I was invited to come and see Victor, on of my old running mates, run his last high school race. It was spring break for me, so I decided to go to his track meet. Mom drove me, we made it all the way to the track...and then something stopped me. I couldn't bring myself to get out of the car. I was embarrassed, way too concerned about what others might think/say. Out of shape, no longer the queen. Far from who I thought I was. I implored mom to turn the car around and just drive home. I felt instant shame and regret, but it still was not enough to get me out of the car.
About a week later, I got the call. There was a bad accident. Victor didn’t make it.
I sometimes replay that day, and wonder what if I had just gotten out of the car? Would things have been any different? Who is to say what could have been? Perhaps it was his fate to be taken that day. But at least I would have seen him one last time, and shared one last “Vatos Locos Forever” moment with my friend.
I’ve always regretted not getting out of the car. In a way, it’s shaped me. Lesson learned? Don't let pride get in the way of showing love for yourself and the people you care about. It's a hard one to practice sometimes, but IT IS NECESSARY. I can never unlearn this truth.
That was nearly thirty years ago. I can't even believe how quickly time has passed. These days, I don’t always have time for a shower, let alone a run, but whenever the opportunity presents itself, I just put on my shoes and get out of the car, or walk out of my door, and I run. Now, I even run with Palomita. If I’m lucky, I get in a good 30 minutes. If I’m really lucky, we run hand-in-hand down the street, make it past three houses or so, then we stop and look for Rolly Pollies. I once again am in love with running. I have gratitude for all that it’s allowed me to do, provided me with, and all that it’s taught me. Now, I do it for me.
When I started college, things were different. I went from being the leader to being the second slowest runner on the team. There I stood, a scared little girl surrounded by experienced, dedicated, serious runner women. It was intimidating. We used to try and cut out on our runs in high school, or have orange fights in the groves, but not these chicks; they were serious. Needless to say, I didn’t enjoy my time. I ran a season, and quit before the start of track. I wanted a break.
My brief hiatus from competition was a shock to my system. I felt like a fish out of water, suddenly without a team and others to hold me accountable to a workout regimen. I gained weight. I slowed down. My sense of self as a strong and capable person was damaged. I was no longer the one to beat.
By the spring I was15 pounds heavier, and not happy in Irvine. My transfer back to Riverside was already in the works. I was invited to come and see Victor, on of my old running mates, run his last high school race. It was spring break for me, so I decided to go to his track meet. Mom drove me, we made it all the way to the track...and then something stopped me. I couldn't bring myself to get out of the car. I was embarrassed, way too concerned about what others might think/say. Out of shape, no longer the queen. Far from who I thought I was. I implored mom to turn the car around and just drive home. I felt instant shame and regret, but it still was not enough to get me out of the car.
About a week later, I got the call. There was a bad accident. Victor didn’t make it.
I sometimes replay that day, and wonder what if I had just gotten out of the car? Would things have been any different? Who is to say what could have been? Perhaps it was his fate to be taken that day. But at least I would have seen him one last time, and shared one last “Vatos Locos Forever” moment with my friend.
I’ve always regretted not getting out of the car. In a way, it’s shaped me. Lesson learned? Don't let pride get in the way of showing love for yourself and the people you care about. It's a hard one to practice sometimes, but IT IS NECESSARY. I can never unlearn this truth.
That was nearly thirty years ago. I can't even believe how quickly time has passed. These days, I don’t always have time for a shower, let alone a run, but whenever the opportunity presents itself, I just put on my shoes and get out of the car, or walk out of my door, and I run. Now, I even run with Palomita. If I’m lucky, I get in a good 30 minutes. If I’m really lucky, we run hand-in-hand down the street, make it past three houses or so, then we stop and look for Rolly Pollies. I once again am in love with running. I have gratitude for all that it’s allowed me to do, provided me with, and all that it’s taught me. Now, I do it for me.