Teammates
We arrived too early, as is our custom when my husband is the driver. Usually, we greet event organizers and attend volunteer meetings even when we’re not volunteers. This was the case this Fourth of July, as we gathered around a team of volunteers unfurling the blue nylon tent that would cover the race registration table. No sign of any runners, just eager, energized race organizers.
I watched from our car parked across the street as eventually a trickle of racers began to arrive and the tent became occupied with clipboards, stacks of race bibs, and small boxes of safety pins.
We joined the line and signed the waivers, got our bib numbers, and carefully attached them to our shirts with those tiny safety pins. Soon we were waiting again, as a long line of racers milled through the tent and gathered near the starting line. One racer, one of the first to arrive after us that morning, was in constant motion, warming up with short sprints, lunges, twists, and jumps. There wasn’t a warm-up move that missed his attention.
My attention went to assessing the field. I felt the instinct/habit of looking for possible contenders for my age group. This was surprising as I had prepared for the short race by declaring how I would walk some, run some, and just have a good time. No pressure.
But the pressure was there, uninvited, hijacking any gesture towards chilling out.