The icy coolness of dawn seeps through my bones to shiver me awake. It is seven in the morning, and at this very moment, all I want to do is drift back off into drowsy oblivion and allow my dreams to take over my entity and subdue once again. But no. This cannot be. I must uncover, beneath all this heaviness that is weighing me down into this glorious, yet ragged, hotel bed, the strength and will to drag myself up into the overly air-conditioned and lung-drying room.
No need to fear, though, for my friend whom I shared the bed with, although being the reason as to why I am so droopy this morning due to her need to watch one more episode of "Cake Boss" the previous night, gives me a startling shake of the shoulder to bring me back to reality. Where her energy derives from, I am not sure, for when I turn over and see her face, I see the bathroom light highlighting the crystal water drops dripping off the tips of her hair strands and onto her running gear, ready to take on the upcoming events of the day.
Damn, it's cold. I steal a glance over at the other just-as-cheap hotel bed through my crusty night eyes to the left of me to capture the blurry figures of two of my teammates, who are on the same page as me when it comes to not arising. Ugh, I wonder how the others are holding up in their own room, just a step across the yellow-walled and red-carpeted hallway. I would be able to find out sooner if I could just get my lazy self to rise from under these oddly comfortable and inviting sheets.
As I summon all the power within me to pick myself up, it truly begins to hit me what the significance of today is. Why I am even in this typical hotel with these seven teammates of mine. How we got to Plattsburgh, New York, six hours away from the comforts of our own beds in our much-appreciated homes, in the first place. The butterflies initiate the emergence from their cocoons within the depths of my stomach, and they are going crazy, trying to make their way out to find some source of light, bouncing off the walls and lining of their surroundings. My stomach tends to be The Plaza Hotel of all stomachs when it comes to being a housing unit for them, and this happens all the time. However, today is especially worse, and the only salvation I believe I have and can actually control willingly is slumber; the one sanctuary I have to help release these wrenching creatures from within my very being.
So I do this. Fast forward to SUNY Plattsburgh. On the dirty white-tiled floors outside the gymnasium, my new blue Nike bag that my aunt had purchased for me the week before acting as my pillow, and my gray yoga pants and red zipper sweatshirt with "OLD NAVY" written across the chest as my blanket. There was nothing to dream about in this sleep, no pictures being painted across my mind, but I didn't need this, because for this to happen, that would require thoughts scurrying all over the place. I just needed blankness and numbness, and that is exactly what I was getting.
I open my eyes, and expecting to be filled with grief knowing that the butterflies would not be at bay anymore, I suddenly feel a warmth, completely contrasting the flurries of snow drifting to the pavement outside, fill me as I see before me my father. Before I knew it, I was in the grasp of his arms wrapped tightly around me and feeling the transmission of heat and the tightening of his muscles as he scoops me off the ground and carries me off and through the doorways in the hallway to the hockey rink. Placing me down onto the black rubber mats and letting go of me, I begin to feel the chill of the atmosphere around me. Dad's right arms snakes its way around to my right shoulder and draws me in again.
We talk. Not our usual chitter-chatter before every race, but something more than that this time. He won't stop gushing to me about how proud he is of me and how I've worked so hard during these past months during my first cross country season of my life. Yes, although my races have been exceptional in the rankings, I have been holding back, and today is the day to let it all go, to prove not only to others that I could do this, but to myself as well. I have nothing to lose, with the only person I would be letting down being myself, and whatever happens, I will still be loved regardless. Just make sure there is nothing to regret.
I am lined up on the starting line, stripped of my many layers of thermal protection, at the foot of the elements now. The grass is squishing under the soles of my half white, half black Saucony Shay XC flats, having been drenched from the melting snow and now being drowned by the oncoming mixture of snow and rain falling to the earth. To my right and left, I see seven familiar faces belonging to my team down the line, but the other hundreds of faces I spot draw a blank. With thirty seconds until the horrid sound of the start gun, no one else matters. I realize that it's just me against myself, not against these two hundred-something girls. I can hear my breath, frigid air coming in through my esophagus down to fill my awaiting lungs, and going out to form a visible cloud that is there one second floating in front of me and then suddenly dispersing and disappearing with the wind the next. I can do this…just remember what Dad said: You have nothing to lose.
Bam.
…
By the way, if you ever try to get me to describe to you exactly what it felt like to be seventh throughout all of New York on November 14 th, 2009 at the State Championships, I will tell you that you would have to experience it for yourself. Being told to just try to break into the top 15 and instead going above and beyond the predicted expectations is sublime. Picture seeing your dad crying from pure happiness as you cross the finish line in the pouring rain and snow in just flailing, flappy red shorts and a light blue cotton t-shirt, and you tell me.
Indescribable bliss.