I felt an uncontrollable rush as I first set eyes upon the elliptical wonder before me. Surveying the new track, I couldn’t help but recall a time of great stress and unfamiliarity: my first days of high school. Those days were long and the homework was challenging. Life at home was more than little rocky, and I found solace on the only sure ground I knew. When I walked through the gates of the field house for the first tie, the hard pat of my feet soothed my mind. The rhythm of the run gradually became part of my soul. That ws the old track, the one I had watched men systematically destroy last year.
It was there that I lined up for my premier race against runners five years older than I. Each time the gun would explode in my ear, the drive within my heart sprang forth. I was determined that they would see the bottom of my shoes.
Always the first on and off the track, sometimes my competitive spirit became an obsession, not only in regard to the finish line, but in other aspects of my life as well. I strove to attain the maximum of my potential. The results were extremely rewarding, but not without sacrifice.
That time-worn track was my protector and teacher. It felt my pain whenever I fell and lost my concentration. One second later it seemed to push me off its hard surface and send me flying once again around its unending path.
A small tear rolled down my cheek as I reminisced. Despite my loyalty to an old friend, I had to admit that the rubber path was peeling and cracked.; it’s time had come. Upon my desk at home, I still have a piece of that track, a five by six inch rectangle of rubber and asphalt, a treasured memory from high school days. But enough. It is time to run a new course. I know that my full attention has to be directed forward; a runner looks back.