OLYMPIC TRIALS PART 2 : 1500m
Hayward Magic. It means something a little different to everyone that feels its invisible force. The people of Eugene, who love this crazy sport and who have embraced me, the DIII, 32 year old New York transplant, are all familiar with the lore of Hayward Magic. For me, it’s fueled by the excitement of the home crowd support, an invisible wave of current reverberating through the stadium, making races here unlike any other. My last few races at Hayward, however, had fallen short of what I felt I was capable of. As the Olympic Trials marched on and my second race, the1500m prelim approached, I felt that I was due for some Hayward Magic.
I was excited when I found out I made it into the 5k Trials, but, a couple days later, when I checked my phone and discovered a few late scratches had opened up a spot for me in the 1500, I was a child on Christmas. I was screaming out of pure joy and jumping up and down in excitement. There’s no race as fun as the 1500m. Coming off back to back PRs in the mile and 1500, I had been building confidence and momentum in the distance. Although time after time I had heard the past few years that my potential likely lies in the 5k, I still believed I could be a competitor in the 1500, and HERE WAS MY CHANCE!
Just like it takes hours of practice day in and day out to keep my body fit, the mind requires similar training. It has taken significant work for me to reframe the pressure and attention when I step onto a crowded track as a positive. I’ve never liked to be the center of attention, and it has been a long journey for me to come to terms with having the eyes of so many people, whose support and opinions I highly value, on me when I execute my craft.
This time?
This time, I was embracing it, and I was ready.
Race Day.
Now, I’m more familiar with the process of reporting to the call room. It was with a little more certainty that I took the final steps into the cool, green underbelly of Hayward. As I waited anxiously for another 10-15 minutes, I intermittently stride back and forth, repeat a drill or two, and ensure my numbers are firmly attached to my lycra bottoms. I try not to pay attention to the heat before mine, playing out in the stadium only feet away, and also blasting through a large TV screen, a disorienting superposition.
This time when we hit the field, I have a different game plan. This may be the first round, but I’m going to run this race as if it’s a final. When the gun goes off, I don't get off the line as quickly as I sometimes like to. That’s ok, I thought, settle into the back, let someone else set the pace. As we merged into one pulsing, moving pack around the first corner, I let out a breath. Dang this pace feels a bit hot compared to my last 5k. I strategically settle into the midpack, hugging the rail. As we round the curve marking the first lap, I can already tell this isn’t going to be a crazy slow jog and sprint sort of race. Good. I think. This is the kind of race I want. Honest effort. I told myself going into this race to let go of the outcome. I was going to focus on running my heart out in the middle laps, and then let my competitive instincts take over when the time came to close out the final stages of the race.
As we tick off a few more laps, circling the stadium once, then twice, I realize I’m hanging on to one of the last few spots. I’m not worried. I’m still connected to the pack, and I’ve carved out enough space for myself to open up a full, comfortable stride.
Then, in what seems like no time at all, as a large group we are coming into the final straightaway for the penultimate time. I make a small move to reposition myself a bit further up the pack. I take a fraction of a second to check in with my body. I’m feeling excited, and a little antsy. When the sound of the bell joined the clamor of pounding spikes and heavy breathing, a jolt of exhilaration went through me. I am still in this. This field was talented but somehow I was still in it.
I’m still with the pack and there are more gears left in my legs. I want to pick up the pace, but I remember: be patient, be patient. This is a fast field, I will surely get burned if I move too soon.
As we go down the backstretch, where the neon singlets of my competitors radiate sunlight, I sense someone moving out of the corner of my eye. Ok, I can’t take it any longer, I’m so ready to make a move. I start to swing wide around the last curve, less than 200, 150, 120 meters to go. I look up and see a cluster of New Balance singlets in front of me. I still feel great. This is it, I’m running this like a final I think. I could take this. I break out my last gear and start to gun down the straight away towards the end. It’s exhilarating, and exhausting all at once. The finish line is getting closer and closer, only 40 meters away.
Then, it stops getting closer. I can feel my arms, legs, everything start to get lactic. I can feel the women behind me starting to close in. Every ounce of energy, every half formed thought in my head is focused on getting to that line. A string of expletives stream through my oxygen deprived brain. My running form is out the window at this point, and I can feel myself tensing and flailing to get to that horizontal strip of white across the sea of red track. I want to make that semi-final so badly, so I fling my body forward, covering the last few meters between me and the finish line in a graceless motion, muscles locking up like quick drying concrete. I’m across that barrier, a thin white line separating the pain of the race from the sweet relief of rest on the other side. Dang, those last few meters really got the best of me.
I think I made it? As I bend forward, hands on knees to catch my breath, I wait for the results to populate on the jumbotron. Breathing hard, I embrace the stillness, the luxuriousness of allowing exhausted, lactic filled legs to be still, as I wait. Top 7 athletes automatically advance, then the next 3 fastest times from the three heats. Finally after the span of a few ragged breaths, results populate.
Jenn Randall 4:07.19 - Q
THE BIG Q! I auto-qualified for the semi-finals! And oh my goodness that was OVER A TWO SECOND PERSONAL BEST! During races I try not to look at the time, and I really had no clue we were running at a personal best pace. I was ecstatic. I only made it into the Olympic Trials 1500m by the smallest margin, and on paper, I had no business making the semi. It’s one thing to believe you can do something, and another for it to actually happen.
As I walked under the stands and on through basket pickup and the media tent, I saw two high school athletes that I had coached previously, volunteering. It was so very cool to see my former athletes working the event and sharing in the excitement. In the media tent, the local news stopped me for a brief interview, then finally I made it back to the athlete zone where Peter was waiting.
“I GOT THE FUCKING BIG Q!” I shouted, unable to contain myself. “Watch your language, there are officials around” Peter said, laughing as he pulled me in for a hug.
So much of track is working hard day in and day out and hoping, dreaming, for moments like these. I wanted to celebrate, but instead, I jogged my cool down to a gas station to grab a protein drink. Then, while still jogging I called my mom and talked to the friends and family back home who had organized a watch party for my race.
After an evening race, thanks to the excitement of a PR and the too-late-in-the-day caffeine, I barely slept, which unfortunately has become the norm for me. Yet, I needed to do my best to refocus, I had another race to run the very next day.
On to the Semis
When the gun went off for my semi-final race the next day, I knew this would be a different kind of battle. My legs were still feeling the effort of the night before. My experience with back to back hard races like this is nonexistent. Sometimes in track it can be your brain holding you back, but today, it was undoubtedly my legs. I fought hard to get everything I could out of my legs, but on this day, in this field, it was not enough to advance to the final.
It would have taken a flawless race, and another two second PR to be in contention for the final. At first, I was upset to see my finishing time, but putting it in perspective, I would have been over the moon with this race’s result, as it tied my old PR from the previous season.
Every time I start to concede that maybe my racing potential is in longer distances, I get a glimmer of hope, and a taste of success, in the 1500. The 1500 is by far my favorite distance to race. At the Trials, I felt like I finally got my glimpse of Hayward Magic in the 1500m, unlocking a new level of possibility. So much of my motivation in training has been building towards this one week of races. As I walk out of the facility, emerging into the sunlight past the giant shadow of the stadium, I’m happy with what I left on the track this week, a bit hungry for more, and a little relieved to have the excitement, exhaustion, and stress of the past week in the rearview.
A lot of times, based on my age, people count me out as a 1500m athlete. Folks often assume that I’m “too old” and it’s time for me to move up in distance to the 5k, 10k or even marathon. Although my main running motivation is to push myself and to explore my limits on the track, a part of me is fueled by these doubts. Even though my journey to elite running has been meandering, and didn't entail D1 glory or a fancy shoe deal, it isn’t any less valid. This year I’ve come to learn not to count myself out, even when the numbers on the start lists may say otherwise. Now, post trials, it’s time to return to the grind of training and work, so I will be prepared to seize the next moment of Hayward Magic that I know lays on the path ahead.
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