I wake up in my snug bed, content to sit there for awhile. I look over at my roommate, still sound asleep but with smartphone close at hand and lit up for the majority of the night. After turning my own phone on to see if I have any notifications, I waddle out of bed, trying to avoid the inevitable squeaking and squawking of the floor on my journey to the bathroom. As I creep down the stairs, I attempt to do the impossible: make a bowl of oatmeal in the microwave without waking up the freshman delegated to sleeping on the couch. It didn't work. After slipping on my shoes and taking my chances with rogue, untied shoelaces tripping me up, I leave the townhouse, making sure to leave the door open a crack so I can get back in without using the key I don't have. I continue my early-morning waddle over to the nearby beach to catch the sunrise; it does not disappoint. There is this half-cloudiness, half-haziness in the air from the light sea breeze, and the sun rising in the east bounces off of all of it, shining every color from orange to yellow to the already brilliant blue of the sky. I observe the beach- I have a teammate sitting not too far away on the sand, a nearby couple begins to pack up from a morning picnic date (donuts and orange juice to accompany flowers), and a procession of unrelated people walk past along the shoreline. I take another bite of oatmeal and think to myself- this isn't so bad.
One thing that was apparent to me was how the sunrise here was exactly the same as back home, even while everything else seems so different. It's astounding to me to see all these different groups of people come walking past, because the whole concept of vacationing to the beach in the middle of March is still foreign to me. Speaking from the perspective of the northern plains, I know many people who hit the months of February and March and want nothing more than to soak up the sun at the beach and live in what is described as paradise, and I know many people every year who do just that. Maybe it's because I've never taken much for 'vacations' in the sense that you go somewhere and essentially ignore responsibilities and your 'real life' for awhile. I guess the question I ask myself is whether these folks walking along the beach are content with where they are now, having successfully run away from home, or if their hearts may be yearning for home. Can we ever truly leave from home?
I'm waddling back to the townhouse now. My hamstrings and glutes are still a little sore from lifting on Tuesday, but I have a track workout coming up this morning. I opt to run to the track for my warmup, and on that 4 mile route I run through our resort, past a bunch of really nice beach homes, through another resort, and then into Myrtle Beach outside of the beach. Yes, it is true that Myrtle Beach does exist outside of the resorts, but it's much quieter. I wonder to myself what local Myrtle Beach-ites think about the tourism industry that inundates the town. Do they embrace it as part of their culture- the economic driving force of their metropolitan area? Or do they look upon wealthy outsiders with scorn, wondering if they could take their lax, money-spending lifestyle back to wherever it is they came from? I'll admit to having no idea, but I always wonder. Deep down, I hope to not be met with scorn by local simply because I'm an outsider. Irrational? Possible. True? No idea.
Well I made it to the track. Jim Shaw Stadium is the name, and it's actually nowhere near Coastal Carolina University, the school hosting this hugenormous spring break track meet. It's a public outdoor track/stadium area with posted hours for people to come use either the track or the turf field inside of it. They have made a name hosting large invitationals over the spring breaks of most universities, and looking around the track I see Ohio, Dartmouth, Purdue, U-Mass Lowell, and the heat sheets promise that Tennessee and Clemson will be here this weekend as well, not to mention the scores of smaller universities I don't recognize.
I've spoken here before about how track is a universal language, but apparently some are more, um, inclined than others to speak it properly. It seems to me that at a track where many teams are training that warming up in lane one wouldn't be a good idea, but nonetheless people are out there doing it. Now, it wouldn't be a problem if after one time of yelling 'track' they moved to the outside, but after I pass by, they move right back, as if not expecting me to every come by again. It confuses me, but I guess we aren't speaking the same language. I leave for cooldown. While running my cooldown, I come across a guy running in the opposite direction, wearing a green shirt that proudly says 'cross country'. I nod and say hello- he smiles, nods, and says hey. We continue on our way. He speaks the language.
One of my favorite parts of this trip is getting to watch all of the other teams, not so much how they perform, but how they train and interact. Most of the time we only see other teams at meets, and so we only see them when they are competing. However, on this trip we get to be around teams while they are doing their workouts. I get to hear what their coaches say, how they say it, and how the athletes respond. It's crazy to see how much respect some athletes have for their coaches because you can literally hear and see it. It's also crazy how much respect some coaches have for their athletes, because you can see it and hear it. They are so invested in each other that it's motivating just to be around. I mean, today there were a couple of hurdlers doing run-throughs in lanes next to each other, but they were on different teams. One girl was division one, and she and her coach were working on some highly technical aspects of her form that I don't even understand. She would pop out of the blocks and clear each hurdle easily, turn around, and come back to her coach for advise. The girl next to her was from a school I've never heard of, and I could tell that she was new to hurdles, either because she's trying it out or doing multis. She was working on the fundamentals of clearing a hurdle properly, and after each run through she would come walking back a little sad from consistent struggle, and her coach had a big smile ready, and would give her some emotional advice before digging into the specifics. I love it.
After that, it was back to the resort for food, recovery, and convincing myself that I had reasonable excuses to avoid homework, including (but not limited to): mario kart, super smash bros, march madness, eating again, and typing up a blog post. I asked Coach if we could go watch the 10k races tonight even though nobody from UND is competing. He said sure; he must speak the language. After all, even though we're 1600 miles away from Grand Forks, we'll probably feel right at home.
No comments:
Post a Comment