Reality…

Reality can be defined as the quality of being true to life.  How or when does one know when reality smacks them in the face?  What is important is how one deals with it when it has…

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As I exited Highway 20 and turned onto Hudson Road, there was familiarity.  The University of Northern Iowa and the Dome were just a few miles away.  There was the water tower on my right.  To my left came the Gold Falls Villas and the power plant, still ugly as I remembered it.

The dorms to my right hadn't changed but the emergence of the McLeod Center, next to the Dome, was a huge change.  Straight ahead and spanning over Hudson was that same pedestrian bridge that I crossed SO many times, on my way to and from track practice.  I planned to park down in the lower Dome lot and circling around found a spot…quite possibly the narrowest space that I have ever fit into.

The old P.E. building saw a huge renovation, which I knew.  I ran to the entrance because it was freakin' cold.  A sign read “Human Performance Center” and I laughed to myself.  Am sure my “performance” today would be quite humanly…  I entered and right away the place looked so different…except for the stack of Northern Iowans that were up against the wall.

I took a left where the track locker room was – the door was closed and had a coded entrance.  At the right was the window to the equipment room.  Beyond that, the entire right side of the hallway changed.  The old weight room has been renovated and now has a glass front.  Televisions were placed in various spots on all walls showing UNI Football highlights.  It looked like a day for recruiting.

The training room that I spent a great amount of time in during cross country (stress fracture) was no longer on the left side of the corridor.  That department now has their own wing in the building.  I wanted to check it out but left that for another day.  Exploring ended and I headed towards the Dome floor.

As I walked down the ramped corridor, the track came into view.  Athletes were warming-up, stretching, and walking around.  Teams were gathered both on the track and in the stands.  Coaches were talking with their athletes, other coaches, and with officials.  I heard an indoor shot thumping to the floor and got a whiff of Icy Hot.

The track seemed familiar yet not.  It had been going on two decades since I last ran a race in the Dome (anywhere, actually).  Back then, the roof was different and the track was all green…and the UNI basketball court sat in the infield.  It was like coming back to your childhood home and seeing several renovations – same but different.

I walked slowly from one end of the track to the other, just soaking in the atmosphere, and then headed up to the stands.  I picked a spot up high and continued to soak it all in, noticing even more changes.  I was both excited and nervous.  Anxiety sweat started to flow.

I thought about my right foot which I had hurt a week and a half ago.  It was still a little sore but had been getting better.  Today's race had become kind of a last minute decision…warm-up and see how it feels.  I knew that even if it did feel okay for racing, I wasn't 100% ready for this.  At that moment, I received a message from Coach Hudson.  His message was to not race at 100%…more like 80.  He read my mind.

I looked up at the clock and did the math.  It was an hour and a half before race time so I headed down to gear up.  Adrenaline started to ramp up within me and I walked with less pain. 

My next trip down the ramp was with spike bag in hand, and as an athlete…sort of.  I threw my bag down next to the check-in station and thought, “Okay, now what?”  I suddenly felt lost and I just started to loiter around until I became bored, or sensed that I should start warming-up.  My senses were a little out-of-whack.

First steps went well and without pain.  As I picked up the pace, the sore toe joint voiced a soft, “hello.”  The soreness was manageable.

I tried to remember my old warm-up routine.  I jogged in the outside lanes of the track for 10 minutes, gradually picking up the pace and worked up a decent sweat.  Finding a spot in the southeast corner, I sat and did a few stretches…followed by some drills.  I was feeling loose.  Foot pain was present but still manageable.

I continued running and this time threw in some straightaway acceleration.  I was feeling strong but not quick.  In the back of my mind, I was afraid to get a good push-off with my right. 

The time to slip into my spikes came fast – ten minutes until the start of the 600.  Suddenly, I remembered that I needed to check-in.  I felt like a frosh…

There is something about being in spikes that is kind of electric.  I don't think that I have known anything that feels more “athletic” than being in track spikes. 

This was the moment that would be a true test of current racing ability.  Even though my spikes felt great, my toe joint did not feel strong enough for effective long-sprinting.  And that was evident as I tried taking a curve, at race-pace.

“Next up is the men's 600 meters.”  Here we go…

I headed to the start line where Bri and her Grand View runners wished me luck and ease some tension.

Heat two came and I stripped out of my warm-ups.  I thought about how strange it all was feeling and how I was old enough to be all of my competitor's father.  “Lane 3, Chris Wolfe.”

I listened to the instructions, took a deep breath, and headed towards the start line.  “Runner's to your mark.”  And the gun sounded…

My mind started to reel.  I felt like an old mutt running with a pack of dogs.  “Huh?  What?  Hey, wait up guys!  Where are we going?  [pant, pant]  Oh, this way?  Okay!  [pant, pant]”

One lap down and I was trailing with no idea of my pace.  I heard, “Let's go Chris!”  I was afraid to push it.

Two laps down and still trailing with no idea of pace.  I pressed a little but still held back.  My lungs started to burn – capacity has decreased.

I took the last turn and pushed a little towards the finish, and did so with a sense of accomplishment.  My first track race since the ‘90s was in the books.

Admittedly, there was some disappointment, especially after I saw my time.  I even left the track with my head held low.  But after thinking about it all, felt good about my race.

This was, in fact, my first track race in many years.  And I did it on early season training, injured foot and all.  Sure, I have a long way to go to reach my Drake Relays goal but also have a lot of time to train and improve.  My coach has a long-term plan to get me where I need to be, and I still have the growing support of so many great individuals. 

It amazed me how accepting the other athletes were of me.  There were probably some who watched that wondered what I was doing out there but I don't care.  Life is great and I move forward remaining optimistic.  That's reality…