Freshmen Football and Ferries

I’m sitting, well standing, and staring at the Vessel Departed sign on Bainbridge Island.  The ferry has an odd way of instilling some serious anxiety for me.  But, I’d arrived early and was waiting in a crowd of people so I can’t imagine that we all had missed the boat.  The windows down the walkway are pebbled so I’m not able to see out to try and spot the boat.  I just trust that it’s still moored at the docks.  I’m listening to Station to Station which had put a spring in my step since my departure from the condo but I can feel my earlier anxiety still lingering in the back of my mind, not quite forgotten.

And, for some reason, Freshman Football pops into my head.  Weird.  And, specifically, I remember the sole time that I felt like an actual team member.  It was a single moment in the span of an entire season where I felt as though I had support, that I was a part of a whole.

We were running, so long ago, what I believe are still called gassers.  Essentially the team was divided into groups and forced to run sets of four 20 yard wind sprints in a row.  Two halves of the team each faced each other, the appropriate distance apart, and one side would send an even smaller group forth and then back and then forth and then back again.  One gasser.  And then the next group would go.

It was very easy for me to allow myself to stay hidden from the coaches in the crowd of runners.  I’d find my spot in the pack and settle into a decent jog for most of the way.  Easy anonymity.  For most drills that involved a group of roughly ten runners that’s what I’d do.  Settle.  Into the pack.  anonymously.

I was in what I thought to be the toughest group to run in which meant that I couldn’t totally slack off.  We were the backs.  Quarter and running and defensive backs.  Recalling now, I believe we also had some receivers but I can’t say for sure and at that age and competition level most everyone had an offensive and defensive position.  I was the only fourth string quarterback and I was grouped with many people who would go on to play all four years, starting at each level and then leave high school to play collegiate ball some place.  We had some of the biggest and fastest and most athletic kids in our group.

I can’t say for sure what happened.  I had quietly passed the time between gassers like usual and when it was our turn to run I stepped unassumingly to the line and when the whistle blew, I flew.  I could feel my legs churning and the rewarding burn in my muscles.  It was just me out there.  At least that’s how it felt.  I couldn’t hear anyone or see anyone until I made my turns and had to cut back through the pack of trailing players.  Even then they were mere obstacles.  I never made eye contact with them on my way through.  They may as well have been rocks in a field.  I imagine now the players that typically finished first smiling at the unexpected effort behind me but who can say.  That’s how I’d like to remember it.

I crossed the final line and immediately started heaving and trying to swallow as much air as I could stand.  My hands were on my knees and I was bent at the waist, having trouble lifting my head.  The shoulder pads and helmet weren’t helping.  And then, I was surrounded by smiling faces.  It was my group, people that I’d talk to in the hall but never really spent any time with, crowding around and patting me on the pads and helmet.  I tried looking at them in the eyes but I was a little embarrassed.  Jesus, I heard, what made you run?  He was laughing, they were all laughing, and I could only manage a humble, I don’t know.

I did my best to regroup but was the walking dead for the next round.  I tried to recapture the burst but it failed me around the end of the first leg.  One of the coaches got on me afterwards about it and that was the end.  30 seconds of feeling legit.  Like a team member.

Stifling in the standing line for the ferry I think of that moment and smile but then I start to think, Why only once?  Why wasn’t I able to repeat that run?  Why couldn’t that be the norm?  And, I can’t think of an answer.  Is there any way to capture that, excuse me, tap into that energy and enthusiasm on a regular basis?  I hope so.  I believe in the power of the mind.  And I’d like to believe that when you want something enough it can be achieved or obtained.  But volition doesn’t come cheap and I think that’s the trick.  There isn’t a quick fix.  You have to keep your goal in sight.  And work hard.