Track season is officially over. For middle schoolers in my district at least. What that means differs from one family to another, I’m sure. For us, it means a bit less chaos in our afternoon schedule and a bit less laundry. And, it turns out, a lot more is ending as well.
When I was a middle schooler, I went out for track. Because my dad thought it would improve what he labelled as my athletic deficiencies, I laced up my already well-worn KMart shoes and headed out to the field one spring day. I practiced a variety of events and improved my general cardio fitness throughout the season. Each practice started out with a short run and then we practiced our individual events. I wasn’t the first runner back from each run, but I wasn’t the last either. Even in middle school I ran just ahead of the turtles. It mattered a bit to me that I wasn’t fast, but I liked the act of running more. I liked being outside in the sun, the feel of the sun on my skin, the sound of my shoes and my breath in a smooth cadence of motion. However, it was clear to all that I was no “runner” like some of the other kids.