False Start: Getting Back on Track

I’d love to share about my tennis escapades as a child, but I can’t. I didn’t play tennis until after I had flown the coop. I was fascinated with the sport, but tennis was so far from being a big deal in my hometown that it wasn’t even a deal at all.

So what does a kid who loves sports do when hitting a fuzzy yellow ball isn’t an option? She runs. I competed in track, and I was good. For some reason, I had a natural talent to place one foot in front of the other faster than almost everyone in my district. Ahh, the simplicity – it was beautiful.

The particular incident I’m thinking of occurred before I reached hicktown fame for my fleetness of foot. I was in seventh grade, I believe, and I was running the 100 meter dash. I hunkered down in the blocks with no idea of how to really use them, but I pretended like I did.

I wiped my sweaty palms on my black shorts, shoved the glasses that took up half my face to a more comfortable position. To your marks! I settled my hands on the rough surface of the track and waited. Get set! With the echo of the gun still sounding in my ears, I bolted down the track with my skinny legs churning and my arms flapping. I was flying! I felt like I was flying anyway. In all reality, I’m sure I looked like an awkward pigeon strung out on crack, but at the time I was positive I was going to be the next big thing.

I was the next big thing in a way because moments later, the entire crowd had its eye on me. I was a good 20 or 30 meters down the track and I faintly heard a loud bang behind me. I paid it no heed. I was racing, for crying out loud. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw I was in the lead and so I churned and flapped even harder. Another faint bang…and then people started to yell and wave their arms at me. They were cheering me on! And then a few people stepped out on the track and their words finally reached me, “Stop! Somebody jumped the gun. You have to go back and restart!”

What!?! I pulled up and then turned around and jogged back down the track, my face heated with embarrassment. Either Coach had never mentioned that little detail about false start or I had been so intent on running that the meaning of the gun shots hadn’t registered. Regardless, when the actual race was run, I was so far from the front I was eating up my opponents’ track tread they were kicking up.

I like to think that my bad result in that race was because my focus was completely shattered. But really, I just wasn’t very good at getting from Point A to Point B faster than everyone else. I learned though. And my dismal beginning turned into a shining track career, but I never forgot the lessons I had learned so early on. Win with class, lose with pride, leave it all out on the track and never, ever ignore the gun shot.