My palms are clammy as I hold an ice cube in each fist to keep cool. I hear the loudspeaker with coach Ben’s voice reading off the men’s last names..” coming up on 3 laps to go.” I’m instantly back in the arena so familiar yet so unfamiliar because of the events of 2020. I stride out one final time, telling my stomach to calm down, and assessing how my cotton Grit socks feel inside my spikes. It’s been over a year since I’ve stepped onto a track to race. The date of the 2020 Olympic trials has come and gone. There was no chance to make the Olympic Team. There is no Olympics.
We are called to the line, Alice announces she will be pacing at 74 second per lap as long as she can. I get in position, crouching down, ready to pounce once the gun goes off. Does this race even mean anything? It means everything. It’s our first shot, our first opportunity. Perhaps a blue print for the future of professional racing and it safely forging ahead.
The last week we spent preparing for the trip to St. George, getting nasal swabbed for COIVD, accidentally twice for me, as they went up my left nostril, found it blocked, then had to retry my right nostril. The results come back negative. We are a green light to proceed. I pack my bags, prep the house, cook a few meals to leave for the boys and our sitter Jill. I’m leaving the boys, only for 2 days, but for the first time since February we are apart. It’s weird. On one hand it’s very exciting and on the other feels strange. The allure of travel and business trips is what I have always loved. This time feels different. We are all adjusting to a new normal. It’s masks on, limit contact with anyone new, and taking more precautions with a rapid finger prick test on site and temperature checks upon arrival. We are navigating the unknown but willing to do whatever is asked and needed for us to pave a path safely to compete.
I’m grateful. For the behind the scenes work Coach Ben and Jen, and Coach Artie have done to put on this meet. To my agent Josh Cox for securing KT Tape and Polar (special 20% off with code SHOWDOWN20) as sponsors and a prize purse. Thankful we have a tangible way to showcase some of the hard work we have been churning out over the past couple of months.
The starting gun goes off and I slot myself into the line of women like a seamless freight train carrying a cargo of fitness, churning around the track. Within the first minute I have dry mouth and think the effort is already higher than I would have liked and we’re only 400m in. I settle my body, and turn my brain off. As I often have worked on and tried to master over the years. Your mind can do you a disservice when you’re racing because your sensory perception does not match your fitness. Meaning I know I’m in great form, but the splits are telling me a different story. Within a matter of laps, I change my pre race expectations. You may not run a PR today, but you damn well better close the last 1000 like you have been preparing to do.
I hear Ben read the splits as I’m fully cognizant and aware. The stands are empty and only the sound of the loud speaker echoes the stadium. With 6 laps to go, without thinking I ease my way to the front and take the lead. Earlier in my career I was not confident in my kick and so I desperately tried to take the sting out of my competitors. It never worked. I pushed so hard in the last half of the race I was on empty when it came time to kick. I was passed in every single race in the last 400m, for years. Then one day I decided no more. I’m changing my narrative as I believe everyone has the ability to. “73.. the fastest lap of the race…” I hear on the loudspeaker. I’m trying to stretch the field but more importantly stretch myself. This may not be ideal conditions, it’s warm, it’s at 2700ft, it’s 8 am, but it’s a chance. To work on my instincts, my closing, my limits. To seize the moment. I don’t know how long I’ve been in the lead pushing, maybe 4 laps, maybe 5. As we approach 800m to go, Kellyn asserts herself to the front and I think “ok it’s GO time.” I attach myself to her back and try not to let any semblance of a gap form. My calves are lit up, my cadence quickens, and I know we are rolling now. We hit the backstretch with 300m to go, I’m up on my toes, arms pumping… “69 seconds for that last 400m.” The guys from our team are cheering, telling us to let it rip and make it hurt. I almost tear up because seeing my teammates (the Scotts twirling their arms willing you to go faster) care so deeply about these moments we’re going through is what this sport is all about. It’s what I miss the most. Doing it for the fans, for the crowd, for your teammates.
At USAs last year I fell off the leaders with 1200m to go. I’m still here with 100m to go. It’s a small victory, small progress. I attempt to sprint, pull up alongside Kellyn, but to no avail. She holds form and holds onto the victory. But she has pushed us to our limits. We closed our last mile in 4:47, seizing the moment. I have felt the thrill, the discomfort, and the reward of racing again. I don’t know what’s next. I don’t know when. But I’ll keep my head down, my heart open, my legs sharp, and my mind open to whatever opportunity we are given next.
Dream Big
Steph
