Am I A Quitter? - Part II

OK...so where were we....oh yes! My Dad came to watch me run the 800 meter race...

I started out and established a good pace. I remember rounding the first curve and thinking that I felt full of energy and that my breathing had a good rhythm. I remember hearing the pace of the girls behind me and thinking that I had a chance.

First straight away...even after the curve where I had the advantage of being in the inside lane, I was still in the lead. Now I started to get a bit excited. Maybe I had a chance!

Second curve...my adrenaline started flowing and my heart pounded a bit more. Surprisingly, I was still in control of my body, driving it forward with each step and each swing of the arm in the direction of the stands. I felt powerful.

Second straight away...words cannot express the pride that welled up in me as I heard my dad's voice in the stands yelling out, "Go Chrystal, go Chrystal!...You can do it... keep it up...pace yourself...GO....GO....!!!

Third curve...a sense of pride welled up in me...no one had passed me yet....there was a chance...a real chance I could take home a medal....

Third straightaway...that familiar feeling started to rise....my lungs began to burn, my legs filled up with lead....I willed my arms to pump faster, harder. I was still in the lead.

Fourth curve...all of my power floated out through my nostrils, the capacity to control my breathing and my pace disappeared. My body and my flesh took over as I slowly realized that now even getting to the finish line might be a real issue. I held on to the lead by a thin shred.

Fourth and last straight away...in the distance, I heard my Dad yelling, "Chrystal...don't give up....keep going...COME ON...COME ON....KEEP THE LEAD....YOU CAN DO IT".... This time his encouragement fell on deaf ears. My appendages cared nothing for his words and they, not me, my heart, soul, or will, was running the show.

I heard the steps of the girl closest to me increase a tad in speed. She was after me. Halfway up that straight-a-way, she passed me and took with her the last bit of resolve I had....I had lost...and a distant voice cried out in anguish.

"AWWWWWWW....CHRYSTAL....!" I heard the rising devastation in my dad's voice.

Now...I had given up...

A second set of feet closed in on me. When I say that I was barely walking...that's exactly what I mean. Now I was entering the phase of embarrassment. Not only was I losing, but I might not even finish...AND I DIDN'T EVEN CARE ANYMORE....

"CHRYSTAL....FLOOR IT....RUUUUUUNNNNNNNN!" That was panic setting in. He knew what was about to happen.

I attempted to set my eyes on the finish line but it seemed too far...I let my eyes fall to my feet willing them to lift up, move forward at least six inches, and then "clunk" down. All I owned at this juncture were two slender pieces of stone that were supposed to be my legs.

Completing the last thirty feet to the finish line seemed to take me three hours. Everything was moving in slow motion. The voices from the crowd, were unintelligible.

When my right foot crossed that white line, I came to a screeching halt. I had finished. I was devastated because I had not finished well. Worse, although I had finished the race, I had not finished my desired course - my desire to run well. I felt that I had failed myself by robbing "me" of taking home a first place medal. I had a third place medal but it wasn't my best.

I truly feel that on that day (and every time my whole family laughs as my Dad tells the story again and again) I did not give my all. My flesh was weak and I did not dig deeper and rule over it. I achieved something but nothing of what mattered to me.

Ever since, I have been obsessed with finishing. I evaluate myself within the context of whether or not I have given my all...

Click here for PART III