[DaoCFan]

When March began, so did the Spring Track season. Prior to that, I had been in an absolute funk since I wasn't running outside and the gym workouts just weren't cutting it. From the first day of practice I gave 100% of dedication to it, at the conclusion of the first week a colleague of mine whom I normally don't keep in close contact with told me to keep up the good work.

The weeks went by and I kept to my craft. But of course, nothing ever goes to plan: I came down with a serious bout of broncitis and despite my attempts to keep at it, inevitably I wore down. In our first meet, once I had recovered, I ran a 2:42 800M. I wasn't thrilled.

April came, and a much awaited trip into New York City with my Uncle. On the first day we ran around Prospect Park with a 5K split of about 22:00. The next day we did something similar around Central Park, of course I had to stop shortly after hitting the 5K mark at 23 due to ankle woes that I feared would escalate. That same day, we went to a nearby Super Runners Store and got my first ever pair of racing flats (New Balance 240s, the ones with the American Flag Pattern.)

At week's end I was back and feeling ready to take on anything. One week would pass without any meets, and then came Saturday. Listening to my iPod I put on my new flats, through the headphones I heard my friend Corey tell me. "Those colors don't run, John."

That day, I would go and run an 800M PR of 2:29.

The subsequent meets that followed would see victory after victory for both myself and the team. We defeated our bitter rivals and countless other teams. One Saturday however, our team had been barred from going to the Red Raider's Invitational. In response our coaches gave us an easy practice instead followed with pizza.

Though I never said it, I felt something highly 'off' with it all.

That Monday, we lost to our first team in over a year.

That Wednesday, our head coach was suspended from his job.

I never saw a team go so quickly to its knees, and although we had won all but that one meet, and while I was PRing consistently (I later PRed again in the 800 with a 2:27, the mile with 5:45, and the 2 mile with 12:39) I was coming to despise track.

In the second to last duel meet of the season, our new head coach put me in the 400M and the 800M (which follow each other consecutively), I was put in the 2nd heat of the 400 with two freshman. I went up to the official, who told me that I needed to change my racing shorts since they weren't official school ones. Frantically I went over the nearest kid I could find on my team for his pair, he gave me a stupid look and slowly gave me his. My race started and I flung myself forward, at 300M I hit the wall, and I was beat by a Freshman.

I PRed with a time of 59.4, but I was disgusted. And my teammates, rather than congratulate me, ranted and ranted to me (I felt) about how I should have improved my stride. I heard this crap all before, it was the same damn advise I had been trying to follow but it never was enough. Then something went off inside me, something telling me it just wasn't worth it anymore.

I got my things, and for the first time ever walked off a track meet.

When I got home, I told my mom how fed up I was; she and a friend of hers both told me life's too short to get frustrated over little things, and that I should leave. A small part of me however, wanted to give it a second chance.

We had a track workout the very next day.

I left that Friday with no intention of ever looking back.

What happened in the next few days was absolutely miraculous. I would be the first to normally say I'm not that helpful and grateful to my mom. But when I left, with the sheer amounts of time left over, I was able to do things I was not able to do before. I would just start cleaning up the house since I had nothing better to do. I watered the plants, took out the garbage, all upon my own free will. For me, thats something out of the norm (well it was)

Also for the first time in ages, I called my Cross-Country coach again. I told him how I had quit track and asked what I would need to do in order to get good for Cross-Country. He told me that he didn't have a problem with me quitting track, that I should cross-train for the rest of May and maybe run some Road Races. He also gave the usual lauding reminders of the skies being the limits for me, and that next year I was going to be one of the key guys on the team.

I took him for his word, after the Track Runners had cleared out I would go on the field and just kick the ball around with myself. I felt invigorated, I felt empowered, I felt healthy, and most importantly I was happy. I signed up for the 1st Annual Jose Cabrera 5K at Jones Beach (I tried getting my friend Drew to come along, but a lot of things failed to line up and he couldn't come)

That Friday, I was in the mindset to run a 5K. I was free, happy, in control. But then something came up that threated to kill all my liberation and dreams.

Our New Head Track Coach came to the weight room (as he usually does) and he asked me why I hadn't come to the last dual meet. I spilled the beans and told him I had quit, that I just couldn't deal with it anymore. He got up, his face beading with sweat, his huge bulk mere inches away from me, he gazed me straight in the eyes and told me. "You're going to practice next week, no ifs-ands-or buts about it. You're getting a Varsity Letter and you're getting recognition for this."

The rest of the day I spent in bitter dispute with myself. I had left track to escape the machinery, the mathematics, the chains of it all. I was free, I was liberated now, I was footsteps away from the joys of summer training. And now, my track coach had unwillingly wedged a massive spear in its side.

I had (still have, always will have) unlimited respect for the man. My mom teaches his kids in her school, and even she says he likes us very much. I didn't wish to offend him, but in my heart I knew what would come of me returning. If I were to return I would face mundane track-workouts day and night. A distance coach (a different coach, some new guy) who I found to be a disgrace to distance coaches the world over. I talked to my counselor at the end of the day for assistance, he told me simply to sleep on it and think it over, he also said it was my own choice (as did pretty much everyone else I told, including people and friends on the team)

The night rolled in as I waited for my dad to come take me to a friends house so the next morning we could go off to the race. He came late due to an incident in school which had left him utterly pissed, but he told me that it wasn't going to get to him and us going to the races. (Throughout Saturday he would talk candidly about the whole fiasco).

It wasn't long after we left our house that we rolled into his friend's apartment complex, and I was perplexed as to what would happen to me in the events to follow.