Better Luck Next Time Loser

There are good days and there are drop out days. Yesterday, was a drop out day.

     It was supposed to be the trip of the season, finally I can go to the America East Conference Championships for collegiate indoor track. Wow I was excited. My achilles was starting to feel better and I was ready to score some points for good ol' Umaine. Though I was in for a big surprise after my warm up to find that my spikes were missing. The one thing a racer needs is their shoes. I. Did. Not. Have. My. Shoes. I frantically searched for them; going through everyone's bags and throwing everyone's things aside, although I was destined to never find them. I ended up borrowing a fellow teammate's shoes. These shoes were a size too small and very narrow, they hurt my achilles so much. So, even before the race, I was doomed. The nerves started kicking in and I wanted to throw up. This was supposed to be the race of my season. I was finally going to break 8:40 in the 3k, a time I would be very satisfied with.

     We went up to the line as my teammate yelled, "those spikes have magic in them." It was supposed to get my spirits up, but it just reminded me that I was probably not going to do as well as I thought. Adrenaline rushed my body as we lined up to the start and waited for the gun to go off. Standing there, kneeled down in a starting position, I prayed that I would be able to finish and do well despite every obstacle that suddenly came my way. Looking straight ahead, my heart beat slowed, then BANG. The gun went off, and a sudden jolt of anger and excitement came over me. The shoes felt fine. I felt fine. It was time to crush a race, though as soon as I hit three laps into it, I started feeling the squeeze from the shoes on my achilles. The pain was awful, especially since I knew with every step I was making everything worse. Of course, just my luck.

     I dropped out. Ran onto the inside of the track. One of the most humiliating things that I've ever done. I wanted to hang on, I wanted to just finish. Why couldn't I just finish and accept my time? A question that I still ask myself. Sometimes, I just feel like a failure. I told my parents that the race wouldn't be worth driving 7 hours and seeing, the sad part: I was right. This was such a disappointing race. My coach must be upset with me. He must think that I'm a failure. Today, a friend who saw the race gave me a hug and said that they were sorry. I hate that. Everyone either thinks that you are a faker or they think that you need sympathy. Really I just want to forget everything. So why can't I stop thinking about everything that happened last night?