a burst of the gun, a leap of anticipation
03.07.08 (7:03 pm) [edit]most of life is fleeting, and while much of it passes on with time, part of it is always left behind. impressions remain, and it affects who you are and who you become. but only very few moments and lessons of life are strong enough to bring about a realization as to how much you have been affected. the full potential of it is recognized.
and i realize now, with a full year stretched between where i was and where i am now, that i took so much for granted-- as it so often happens-- and what i find has influenced perspective and ideas most now is what i was blind to before. in the past months, my brain thoughts have wandered again and again to all those years, memories, lessons. and each time, i want it again; i want to experience it just as i did for the past four years. from what i have lost through all the turmoil and strife, i gained a hundred times over.
i fall back to what i miss most during those hours and minutes and moments well spent on the track field. i remember the anticipation, the built-up anxiety swelling in my gut on the bus ride there. i remember the chatter of my teammates in adjacent seats and how it would calm me to know that i had a whole team of support and friendship. i remember the creeping excitement with each step on the asphalt and grass. the nervous calm before the burst of the gun at the beginning of every race. i remember pulling out every ounce of boldness, strength, and skill into each challenge. and more than anything else, i can't get out of my head how each cross of the finish line felt: knowing that the end is so close, pulling out all the energy left in me to reach the finish line, teammates muffled shouting at the edge of the track, giving out when i took the last leap over the line. i remember the blaring lights washing over the stadium as the night seeped in. the warm relief that seeped over after all races were finished, heading back to the bus. and i remember the bus rides home, in twilight or seeping darkness, with shouts of contentment and accomplishment heard over the calming lull of sleep. i remember my teammates, and how much we went through together, how well i related with them, how much they've done for me. all of these countless moments blur now into one bursting memory in my mind.
what have i learned from my teammates and all of these imprinted memories? i have learned that attitude determines how well everything goes for you; if you believe you won't be satisfied, then the expectations will never be met. i have learned that any encouragement helps. every word adds up; every action, no matter how small-- and when taken into consideration and with the right attitude-- matters. these have become perhaps the two most important ideals that i hold.
i have asked myself over and over how i can come back to this, how i can regain the memories all over again. i know now that there is no way for me to have it as it was for those four monumental years before i came to ucsb. because i want to find it again exactly as it was, and i know that even if i go back to find a substitute, it will still be different. the feel of the track, the crunch of my cleats, the bumps and turns of each bus ride, the bonds with each teammate, each friend, the palpable, bursting feelings of excitement, anticipation, anxiety are too unique to add up. it's so overwhelming, and it's enough to make me burst; it has to be said. i may find another activity that can help me grow as much as track and field did, but it won't override my experiences as a high school athlete, runner, teammate.
this note won't be enough to do all of this justice, for first-hand experience is always so much more than a second-hand story. but i hope that it will bring some kind of relief and realization that will bring me forward, because dwelling in the past leaves no time for the present. i am ever grateful of what i've learned, who i've met, where i've been, what i remember. it has changed me in so many ways that i may never even completely realize.