Every team that I have gone out for I have always had to push harder, stay longer at practice and convince myself that I was worthy enough to put on the uniform and entertain those who come to watch. That mentality came sadly when I failed to make the elementary basketball team. I remember telling myself, “If I just would have made that shot or got back on defense fast enough I would be out there with my friends.” A year went by, and during that year I erased myself from just about everyone and started to train. I would find myself shooting hoops in every condition possible — pouring rain, blistering heat and, worst of all, Santa Ana winds. I would spend time running doing suicides until I was so tired I would throw up or fall flat on my face. Why did I do that to myself, you ask. Because I never wanted to fail at making another team and being embarrassed in front of my peers.
Well, as the story goes, when I made my way to junior high school and tryouts came I was ready for it. At least, that’s what I thought. In my mind I was better than everyone out there, but good stories are only for the movies. I failed miserably, but I made it to the third day of tryouts. I remember that day like it was yesterday. I walked in the gym, and in the distance I saw a group of young boys looking at the paper. Some of them were giving each other high-fives while others walked away with their heads down as if they just had been rejected from the girl of their dreams. I made my way across the gym, and I stopped in my tracks. I knew deep down that I hadn’t performed well enough to make the team. I never made my way over to the board; I turned around and walked out the door. That same day I walked over to the track, put down my bags, laced up my shoes, tucked in my shirt, and stepped up on the track. I could feel the dirt of the track through my cheap shoes. I closed my eyes and took in a deep breath. I went somewhere so deep, so far I can’t even explain it, but that was where I was supposed to be. I ran that track for two hours and didn’t remember one minute of it.
Years later
I close my eyes and picture what I am about to do. The snow is falling hard landing on my head and on my eyebrows, making me look like an old, gray man. The roads are slippery and wet, but I must contend with the conditions so that when they do happen during a race it will be like running with the sun up. This morning I was running with my squad leader, Staff Sgt. Rine. He is getting ready to qualify for Special Operations, so his training matched mine. I have been blessed to have a squad leader who allows me to train on my own. Having someone trust me to do the right thing makes me work harder.
The run started, and as we made our way down the road I realized quickly that it was just he and I. As we crushed our way through the snow, pumping our arms like a train, I felt reborn. There’s something about running that makes me feel like a kid again. My heart was beating; my legs were moving smoothly. At the 3-mile mark we turned around. While on our way back, I noticed more men making the tricky run up the road. As we ran, I took in the sites and sounds. A squad leader on the side of his formation was yelling at the top of his lungs, “You better not stop; it snows in Iraq.” I laughed, but he was being honest; I have played in it. The next group we ran by was a group of guys who couldn’t seem to keep on their feet. They were falling everywhere. As we made our way back to the finish, I took a minute to think about life in general. To me that run was easy; I kept focused; I knew that road — every pothole, every uneven spot. The snow covered it, but I could see the ground like the snow wasn’t there. Everyone travels a different path in life, and through our experiences — some good and some bad — we learn what works for us. And for me, all I have to do is remember the first day I looked in the mirror and saw myself. I was wearing my school sports uniform, and instead of wearing the one uniform I had trained so hard for, I was wearing the one I had least expected — the junior high running jersey.
The Fort Lewis Army 10-Miler team practices have started, and so far I have found myself working extra hard and spending extra time at the gym. I also have been running in every condition you can think of; old habits die hard. The one thing that I have had to face so far is trying to take my half marathon mentality and place it into the 10-mile mentality. For me that can be hard. So far the team consists of six to seven guys and a handful of women.
The first run of the season was a nice 6-mile run just to get things going. I matched up with the other guys running, and we made our way out. As we started, we talked a little about experience and what we have done; it’s a runner thing. I found out quickly that not everyone spends their weekends running in races. The one thing I noticed is the men I run with have natural talent and all they need is to be coached. I am sure they will get it here. As the week went on, more men showed up, and the talent started to get better. In my mind I am drawn to it, so I love it. Every practice is different, and I seem to be getting better and am learning how to feed off of other people.
I finally manned up and went out to find a 10-mile race. After some time, I found the Valentine Marathon and 10-miler. So my wife and I went down to Olympia and checked it out. My wife doesn’t run, but she is a great supporter. She thinks I am crazy for running, and I tell her that she is crazy for waking up this early to come with me. The night before the race I drove the course and started making my notes. I am all about being prepared; I even take video. I wanted to know every inch of that road. So I went back to the hotel and started to watch the video, and after an hour I came up with my plan. My wife huffed in the background and mumbled, “Are you serious? You better win this thing.” I looked at her and smiled and said sarcastically, “Oh, honey, anything for you.” I turned around and laughed.
The next day I lined up at the starting line, and the only thing I could think was “I wonder what it feels like to give it all you got.” The lady came over the speaker: “OK, Five, four … .” Just for a moment I closed my eyes, and I pictured myself standing in the middle of the gym and making up my mind what I wanted to do. I then quickly envisioned myself on the track running around, and then I envisioned myself running in the snow huffing and puffing. The lady’s voice echoed in my head and then disappeared. The race started, and for the life of me I couldn’t even tell you one thing about it — except that when I came across the finish line I was the first one. I ran 10 miles in 1:09:22. OK, it’s not fast, but hey, it’s a win, and I have confidence now. The ten-miler season is a long one, and I know that I still have to make it. So this little run has given me encouragement to get to where I am supposed to be.
For those of you who are interested in the backstory of the junior high thing, I never found out if I made the team. But the next year I made my way across that gym, and there I saw on the top of the list my name and a message next to it from the coach. “Hardt, are you going to come to the first team practice this year?” I laughed and turned around and smiled. I made the team, not just that year but the year before as well. I am glad I turned around that year, because to this day I work so much harder at what I do to succeed.
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