The Dashed Lines

Picture this. You're sitting in the back of a school bus. You're on the way to a high school meet. You are in high school. It's early morning. You are nervous, anxious to do battle, anxious to race and get this thing over with. You love it and hate it and because of this you love it even more. Everyone is talking and blabbing on with one another. It's a big deal for all aboard; it's the state qualifier, but you don;t want to talk. You're too nervous to talk. You don't want to be here. You are trapped. You need to get away. You've twisted your body away from the others and stare out the emergency exit door in the back of the bus. You stare down, straight down, at the asphalt. The dashed white line that denote your driving lane flashes and flickers from white to black, white to black...white to black. It pulsates. Flash...flash...flash. It beats with a different pace depending on how fast the bus moves. You pay attention to this. It's not interesting but it distracts you from the others and from the business of the day. It pacifies you.

I listened, on a Sony CD walkman, to James Horner's classical Apollo 13 score while staring at these white flashes during the gray of that post-dawn morning. The music is mellow and calming at first but builds and has a sort of "accomplishment-like" finish. It's definitely not a Kanye West "pump up" tune. To me it's more honest.

Before every race I run, I try and listen to this same score. It reminds me of the black and white dashes and keeps me focused on the race at hand.

Tomorrow I race again...the first real race of the spring season. I've finished 3rd ($100) at this event over the past two years (15:21, 15:30). Tomorrow I want to set a big PR. I am in it to win it.