400 Meters

Anyone who has ran track can tell you that the 400 meter race is a brutal event. One time around the track in under a minute at full speed is considered a sprint, although most sprinters reason that it is a middle distance race (so they don’t have to run it). There is very little strategy involved in running a 400 meter like there is in say, an 800 meter. A true middle distance race, the 800M is a full two laps, just long enough for you to assemble a strategy of which areas to sprint and what curves to stride. Some of the better runners learn critical moves like how to draft off their opponent and when to pick up the pace to sap their opponent's energy and pull ahead. As much as it is a test of one’s physical speed, it’s also a mental game that needs experience to excel at. This isn’t the case in the 400M. There is not enough track to plan a complex attack giving you little choice as to when and where you will kick it in. You simply run your guts out from beginning to end.

If you’ve ever seen a 400M being run, at the sound of the gun the sprinters launch out of the blocks and hit the first curve of the track fairly quickly. You’ll see them pump their legs around the back straightaway and push their way into that last curve. It’s out of this final curve that you begin to see the pain the last 300 meters have inflicted on them. The full out sprinting they’ve done catches them and the last 100 meters appears to be run in slow motion. These runners, fast as thoroughbreds at the start of the race, now resemble something more like a draft horse trying to gallop with a heavy load. The “monkey is on their back,” sapping them of the grace and stride that enabled them to cover the distance they’ve already traveled. It’s ugly. For the person running the race, it is sheer agony. That last 100 meters, only a quarter of the total race to go, might as well be a thousand miles. You try and force your body to push for the finish line but nothing seems to respond. It’s not like a distance race where you can call on your last inner reserves to dash to the end. You have no reserves at this point because you’ve given it all you got, coming to the cruel and sudden realization that there is still more track to run. Your lungs burn, your legs ache, you feel very heavy and your fuel tank is pegged on empty, yet you muscle forward, praying that your momentum will somehow get you past the screaming teammates and occasional spectator to cross that line. It’s hard to hear the cheering because you are so focused on pulling that imaginary sled towards the finish. The blood pumping in your years drowns out the words of encouragement. You focus on finishing the race, completing the struggle, with the ultimate goal of ending the pain you’ve endured to get to this point.

Today I feel like I’m in the final stretch of that 400 meter race. The distance left to cover is not long relative to the entire time I’ve been here, but I feel very ugly and slow. The energy levels that got me to this point are fading and the weight on my back feels more like a gorilla instead of a monkey. I don’t have the ability to call upon my emotional energy reserves because as far as this deployment has gone, I’ve been at a dead sprint the entire time. I know it’s not long to go. I know it’s the encouragement of my teammates and the occasional observer who will tell me that I can do it and root me on until I come home. I know that I’ve come a long way, but today it feels like there is so much more track to cover than I thought there was.

I'll get to that finish line, one way or another and when I do, I'll wipe the sweat from my brow, catch my breath, and smile to be finally done with this race.