We finished practice. It was an easy day—the day before a meet: the biggest JV meet of the season. We were freshmen, but our coach wanted us to run the 5K and not the stupid 2-milers the meet organizers typically make the freshmen do. We only did some strides and a 5-mile loop in the trail with the old spillway. It was the epitome of serenity. We would sometimes stop running—we called it scheming—to skip rocks across the lake and pick the wild onions we would otherwise trample in our runs; they were sweet, earthy, and probably unhygienic, but we didn’t care. On long runs or summer practices, we would take the other path in the fork on the trail and find ourselves in a meadow that went on forever. The only features other than the infinite grass were the huge sports complex in the distance and the single grand hill. We could either take the path up the hill and look down on everything insignificant and great or traverse the grass to the gravel carpet that unrolled without end. The vastness would always seep into me. Venturing to absorb the boundless meadow always cleared the mind. We would never feel tired there—never caught up in our breathing or our strides. There was only the fantasy world that cleansed us of all fatigue.

Thanks to this, we were all still very energetic after our run. None of the other sports were out then. The obvious remedy was to start pantsing each other. I got an amazing revenge opportunity on Chase Crawford just outside the football locker room. Chase is an amazing guy. He’s tall, lanky, fast, and great with the girls. I’d often forget to bring water, so he’d let me waterfall. He’s someone whom everyone loves to be around. From behind him, I grabbed his shorts and squatted. He was standing still, so I had a perfect execution. My eye level was at his ass cheeks and his shorts to his shoes, revealing his Calvin Klein boxers to all of us freshmen. I got carried away in the moment and impulsively pulled his fallen shorts toward me. His ankles were tugged along and nearly thrown into the air. His sneakers scraped the concrete as he lost his footing. Luckily, his shorts fell past his shoes. He fell forward but managed to catch himself with his hands, pushing himself just enough to stumble forward and save himself. Had he not caught himself, he would’ve face-planted onto the concrete, most definitely taking him out of the next and potentially the following meet. His reaction to my attempted murder: “Yo, you could’ve hurt me, dawg.” Our other friend chimed in: “Come on, dude, you gotta think these things through.” Of course, I felt terrible for nearly injuring my closest track buddy, but I was surprised not to be completely chewed out for my blunder.

I was still slightly uneasy the following day on the bus ride to the meet. I expected to be at least briefly chided for what I did the day before—I still refer to that moment to this day when I think of doing something dumb—but it seemed to be past everyone. I was greatly relieved not to be given the reputation of him who almost ruined someone’s season. If I were, I think I’d leave track, given that I already would’ve been socially excluded. Maybe I deserved to be driven out, but I wasn’t. On the bus, we passed the mouth of the previous day’s trail. Almost the entirety of it was obscured, but its tranquility still quenched my qualms. I turned away from the window so I could join the Clash Royale 2v2.

NOTE: I have this irrational fear that one day I'll go stupid and will never understand what I've done in the past, so I will say it explicitly here: Letting people be well aware when they messed up without giving them too much shit about it can let them learn without "ruining" them or driving them off.

tags: life