That Old Open Road

It's extremely hard to describe how these past days have been. So full of pride and very emotional moments. From the highest of highs to the great depths of the lows, everything has just been an experience. And it's hard to start at one exact place.
So I guess I'll just start from yesterday.

My idea of a road trip is simple: friends who don't mind spending more than an hour together in the car, driving somewhere, talking and dancing, smiling and laughing the whole way. And that is exactly how yesterday's drive went. Sitting in the truck from 4:30 to 9:30pm, the four of us sat in that truck and talked. We texted the masses. I don't even know how many "that's what she said" jokes were made. We made videos. We took pictures. The insanity just goes on and on.
Watching the sun dip low beyond the horizon, the sky fade to black, and the stars shine so bright. Then stop for dinner, eat our fries and make remarks to each other. "Things aren't going to go so well tonight, m'dear" I say with a wink. We can't help but laugh hysterically in the bathroom. I look like I'm walking through the wardrobe to Narnia. Hard to explain, but it made so much sense! We shook the cab with techno beats and ate our puppy chow and Cap'n Crunch out of the box. Figured out our coach's last name spelled backwards is "Yehaek" [pronounced Yea-hawk].
And we get to the hotel, where we dump our bags, and get to the room. We mean to make our signs, honest, but we plug the iPod in instead and start dancing and filming. And the dancing was so hilarious, I haven't laughed that hard in forever. We even intercepted a friend from the hotel across the parking lot. We ran around and "partied" like we would. Took showers in shifts, and made a few more dirty comments before laying down to bed. I learned a few things before I went to sleep.
1) I can take more than one pill at a time without choking.
and
2) We have some serious enchilada lovers on our team.
Next thing I know, I'm waking up at six-thirty, grumbling and turning off the Blackberry that's buzzing next to my head. Waking up at seven-thirty, and being thoroughly disturbed as my bed mate rolls over, taking away all the heat that was on my body. I was very sad.
And after a breakfast of Texas-shaped waffles and hot coffee, we were off to the event of the day: the cross country meet. The state meet. The everything meet.

I was baffled by the size. There were tons of runners. An amazing amount of teams. Everything looked so official, from the starting gates, to the full color racing bibs and concession stands. And being ignored by the team and coaches tells you that this is serious.
Not that this didn't happen at the regional meet either. But it was for the best.
But the feeling was incredible.
You're standing at this chute. This starting area for the runners. Packed shoulder to shoulder, watching the occasional jog out, stretch, prayer. Your hands are sweating, and you're not even the one running. You catch the eye of one of your team mates out there. No smile. You give a look of belief. A look of strength. Because this takes a lot of courage. Fear will not be tolerated.
Arms out, hands up, gun shot. The boys take off and so do we. Sprinting this way and that, I've taken the job of fighting for our camera to get the good spot amongst crowds of people. They look dead, and tired. But it's only mile one, and that's the worst mile. And we split the group and my teammates and I head up this hill, steep and menacing. Sraddling the concrete barrier that separates this steepness from the thin trail on top. The crunch of the soft gravel below every one's spikes is in rhythm. The grit and dust rises, making a strange yellow haze. Then, sprinting to the finish, we get there just in time to watch our first boy....our second....our third....and the list goes on and on. No kick. No passion in the expressions. Just. Pure. Pain.
They look horrific. They look zombie-esque. They just don't look right. The way our best runner is flopping over like a limp noodle makes your stomach churn.

But then you get that call.

And in that strange, blazing November heat, you hear something like a miracle. You hear the news in advance.
You hear their place.
You hear what these boys have done.
You hear they placed third.

And again, in that strange, blazing November heat, I felt like passing out. I was in a daze. I was so purely amazed at these seven boys that did so much to get here. That fought and spent hours. The blood, sweat, and tears that have all been put into this.
All to add up to this state performance.
To watch these Redhawks fly. To see the true colors of red, silver, and black never run. They never bleed. They stand bold and true. And I'm so proud to be a part of something that has truly changed my life.
These boys are my brothers. Whether they like it or not.
And I get so stupid just thinking about it.
Because it's amazing.

Lunch, and the ride home would have to be a different story. We had so much fun. The talking, the eating, the almost falling asleep, but waking up very quickly. I'm even talking to some people I met on the highway. What a long story. But it's quite humorous.

You can't help but be so much closer to the people you travel with. We didn't want to go home. We wanted state weekend to last forever. We wanted to relive the moments over and over again.
But reality says we must wait another year. Reality says that we all have families to go back to.
Alex says the whole team should go camping soon.
Everyone agreed.

I'm so exhausted. I need some coffee in the morning. I need to sleep.
It seems that I've learned so many things this weekend.
And tomorrow brings a whole day more of possibilities.