Horizons

 

 

8:08 pm, August 22nd, 2015

Thump thump thump

           The thin soles of my Nike FlyKnits pounded out a steady rhythm across the first quarter of the track, my toes feeling the crunch of the all-weather synthetic polyurethane and my heels beating the ground. It was too cold to run but I didn’t care –- this was my escape, my solace from the grunt of school life, the constant school work and people. I turned onto the first curve of the track, timing myself mentally at a smooth 40 seconds.

Thump thump thump

           In the distance there was the occasional shout of intramural soccer teams. Team sports had never appealed to me –- it was the competitive nature of playing as a unit against others. When you run for sport, at the end of the race, your biggest rival was yourself. You drove your knees into the ground, kicked out stronger, swung your legs harder to best your own personal record.

Thump thump thump

           Looking around, there was a sort of bare, almost naked feel to the surroundings. The grass was clipped. The hurdles and bars seemed abandoned. The track itself was clear of debris. When you run, there’s a sense of isolation; not literally; the only competition is you. Well, the past you. You two weeks ago, you two years ago and you two seconds ago. When you break down the sport, the only person you try to outrun is yourself, because running at its core is about self-improvement.

Thump thump thump

           I turned onto my second lap, timing myself at 3 minutes. Years of running on the high school team seemed to be catching up with me, with pins and needles running down my shins and knees. Distance runners have an odd mentality of embracing the pain. “No pain, no gain,” my coach used to tell me. I looked out into the distance, holding my hand up to shield my eyes from the glow of the setting sun. The orange orb fused with the edges of the track that I couldn’t see. The fence divided the track from the sun, creating a thin barrier between the track and sun. If it weren’t for the glint of the metallic fence separating the two horizons, I could have sworn the sun and track had merged into one.

Thump thump thump

           My feet beat out a steady rhythm, my knees now unmistakably feeling the strain of four years on the varsity team, running miles every day through concrete and paved dirt through the city. Whereas my joints felt hard, the track was soft, almost inviting. The red polyurethane surface resembled brick — hard, uninviting and unforgiving to the uninitiated, but to a runner’s eyes, there is nothing softer. This track, every track is where I fly, leaping across the finish in a rush of dopamine as I finish a race, collapsing in sweet agony and exhaustion. This is where I escape after a stressful day, relying on the rhythmic pulse of my feet to restore balance to my life.

Thump thump thump

           On the track and in the end, there is only you.

 

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DongWon is a Korean-born, internationally raised student who has spent several years (2003-2014) in New Delhi, India. He is an aspiring writer who started writing in the fifth grade. Throughout high school, he ran competitively in track and field and cross country, which is where this piece comes from.