"Almquist Invitational" by David Brewer

Photo by Blocks Fletcher on Unsplash

It was my final track meet for the year, and all teams in the region would be competing. The lanes radiated heat as I walked through them to the field. The grass was warm to the touch, and the sky was a light blue with few clouds scattered throughout. I walked to the fence that surrounded the track. Putting my arm on the fence to watch the teams arrive, I immediately pulled it back. It burned. 

“Are you ready?” my teammate asked. 

“I guess,” I replied. First call for the 800-meter Racewalk would be anytime now. 

We started warming up, the same thing I’ve been doing all season: run down, walk back; toe touches down, high knees back. The whole team was warming up together, and racewalkers always warm up again right before their race, mostly drills that have to do with form. The drills were over, and my teammates and I walked back to our team area behind the bleachers as we watched the other middle school teams gathering and arriving. By then there were at least seven teams from the region, and I recognized all of them. I sat in the shade escaping the heat that surrounded me as if it were walls in a cramped room. Waiting for the first call, the never-ending butterflies flew around in my stomach. 

I’d been competing in track since the age of five. Track created a community for me that I have found in no other sport. After I turned seven, I started competing in Racewalk. At the time, not many people had even heard about the event. Although Racewalk wasn’t less or more challenging than other events I’ve competed in, it certainly had a unique set of challenges such as keeping your form.

“Team meeting in five minutes.” Coach got up and headed to the black tent by the finish line. 

Five minutes later, I walked up to the white dashed line, my feet and legs quivering. 

The official signaled me and the other competitors to the next and final line, this time with our heels on the ground. “Runners to your mark.” I imagined the audience looking down from the bleachers, they saw us jog up to the starting line before the race started, and since the race hadn’t started, it was allowed. I was seeded first, so the other racers lined up to my right and slightly in front of me.

I jogged up to the starting line... 

“BANG” 

The starting gun rang in my ears, and I immediately pushed off my right leg. I cut in front of the competition and shot past the staggered starting line right at the 50-meter mark, past the field goals. The track radiated heat through my body and the roars of the crowd echoed behind me. I walked past them. My legs hit the track straight. I had to keep one leg on the ground at all times and hold a straight knee until my leg hit the ground to keep from receiving a paddle. Paddles are warnings, and depending on the meet, three paddles or more could disqualify a competitor. I focused on keeping my arms straight and imagined them pushing a shopping cart to reserve my energy for the upcoming lap and a half. 

Approaching the first curve and turning onto the straight, my teammates ran to the fence. “C'mon David!” Their voices blurred and faded behind me as I approached the quarter mark of my race. 

“LET'S GO DAVID!” my dad yelled at me. 

My dad always stood at the same spot to watch my races at the school track, next to the shot putters and the high jump mats on the outside of the track within the last hundred meters of the first lap. I noticed my teammates heading to the long jump pits to take their marks. 

The sun was still beaming down causing sweat to drip off my hair and down my uniform as I crossed the finish line with only one lap to go. My shins began to burn and my breath felt heavy. I looked ahead to the clock. I was in first place and spot on for my goal time. Everyone else trailed behind me. I had never race walked a race that had felt so long. In my races prior, I would make it to the second lap still full of energy, but today the race felt endless. My legs were tired, and the heat didn’t help, they felt mushy.

I kept my pace, pushing hard past the officials and down the second to last straight away. As I passed the team area and away team bleachers for the second time, roars erupted: “Go, David!” I caught a quick glance to see who was cheering and kept pacing myself toward the finish line. 

“Almost done, David, push it!” My dad was screaming. 

By this point, I was all out, no more pacing and reserving my energy. My legs ached and I felt a piercing pain in my shins even worse than before. “Only two hundred meters” repeated in a constant loop in my head. “You can do this, just pass them and push through.” All I could think about was finishing, not the 400m or 800m after. I kept my arms moving, propelling myself forward. My coaches were now in sight. They were winding their arms around in circles and pointing to the finish line. 

“PUSH IT DAVID, RIGHT ON TIME!” my coach yelled.

The crowd roared when they saw me enter the final straight, cheers and clapping erupting throughout the stands. During the last hundred meters, my head bobbled and my vision blurred, my breath heavy as a tired, old dog. I swung my arms back and forth, 4:30, 4:31, 4:32. With the clock ticking right in front of me, I pushed my head forward and crossed the finish line. I immediately collapsed on the grass. My chest heaving, almost like an inflating balloon; my legs were sore, walking on them felt like moving weights; and my throat was dry. My coaches ran over to join me. 

“You got first place,” they yelled. “Congratulations!” 

The whole moment felt surreal. I stumbled back to the team area to grab my ice-cold water bottle and high-five my teammates after minutes of lying on the ground. While we waited for the results of the race to be announced on the live speaker. 

I am proud that I stayed with Racewalk for over five years. Although I’ve sometimes felt like quitting, the sport has grown more popular and I’ve grown to fall in love with it. I’m grateful for the opportunities track will bring me in the future, and the community that it has created for me. 

“The winner of the boys 800-meter Race Walk and setting a new meet record of 4:37, from Orono, David Brewer.”

David Brewer is 13 years old; he lives in Orono, Maine and attends Orono Middle School.  Some fun facts about David are, he plays flute and piccolo in concert band and tenor sax in jazz band.  He loves running, swimming and hiking, and he plays soccer year round.  A very busy young man!