Evan Martignetti

Light on the Horizon

By Evan Martignetti

Running is a sport of mental resilience and willpower. Developing endurance by improving pace in long-distance runs is a fundamental training strategy used by some of the world’s greatest runners. Additionally, pacing was a miniscule grain on the beach going into my first 5K invitational race in Warwick, Rhode Island as a runner for Canton Cross-Country. From the compact bus, I traversed across the flourished grounds of Goddard Memorial State Park, thinking lightly of the daunting task that lay before me. I was an unacquainted teenager basking in the exhilaration of a “joy-ride” in an exotic car, blind to my body’s limits and prioritizing speed over pace with only five weeks of running expertise under my belt. I trotted up to the starting line with my wavy neon blue sneakers as proud as a peacock, acclimating to the experienced, intimidating runners which congested around me while confident to represent Canton as a runner.

My mind raced as the black tip of the gun cocked back in place, rising before emitting a thundering pop to reawaken the frenzied ensemble of sneakers gliding across the sea of green crests: What if I finished last and disappointed my supporters? What if my body sweltered under the pressure of my competition and gave out? The abundance of outcomes seethed within my mind, deadening boisterous whispers from the crowd and supressing original optimistic spirits. My husky, extended legs thrusted like swift crusaders as I approached the first mile marker with a personal record pace of eight minutes. Darting towards the front of the pack in fear of being overtaken, the roof of my mouth shriveled into a barren desert. Sticky sensations at the edges of my tongue pleaded for remnants of hydration. While the ashen morning sky rained cats and dogs, my hamstrings initiated an eruption of energy, thrusting upwards to propel me up a slight hill at the two mile mark.

The mucky, soggy soles of my shoes indicated the consequences of my aggressive pace to begin the race. My calves burned and convulsed with each stride downhill, infecting my mind with the enticing urge to fall back and invigorate my depleted body. But slowing down was no longer a mental option, as I had already conquered ⅔ of the trail with flawless timing and was able to attain the support of my coaches, teammates, and mother. The pins and needles puncturing my legs with each stride was like influenza infecting the body of a determined Michael Jordan in the 1997 NBA Finals. Completing the course with record timing and proudly representing the town of Canton on a regional spectrum was my destiny and nothing would obstruct it. My eyes were an exhausted pair waltzing in the gloomy night, swaying dazedly with each extension on the rigid gravel path towards the finish line, immersing my body into a slumped posture before a catastrophic thud: The enlivening shrieks of the crowd fell silent as my body entered the dark abyss of internal numbness.

The flashing lights and sounds of devices transmitting messages emerged my body into a bewildered state of consciousness within the ambulance. A stocky paramedic in a navy blue button down jacket informed me, “You collapsed after crossing the finish line, so we are heading to Hasbro Children’s Hospital to check up on your vitals and ensure your heart is working properly.” The soft cloth blanket draped around me in the stretcher couldn’t contain my immense frustration: How could a vigorous athlete of multiple sports deteriorate so rapidly under the conditions of a 3.1 mile run? I felt pathetic and debilitated seeing the liquid IV injected in my arm and a system of wires connected to stickers across my chest, assuming I had disappointed my supporters attending the race. The beaming lights, sterilized wooden counters and child-appealing sea illustrations along the halls of the hospital indicated that my body was weak and could never keep up with the more athletic runners. 

Soon, my mother scampered into my designated room with a solemn expression on her face, giving a warm embrace as all the resentment in my mind wondrously vanished. I eagerly asked, “Did I finish with a good placement and time? Did I satisfy the group with my performance?” to which she affectionately grinned in pride, responding wisely, “The respect of others is meaningless if you don’t first learn to respect yourself.”

Author's Note: I love writing because it provides an outlet for me to express my genuine thoughts, emotions, and aspirations as an individual, capturing important life moments and experiences in the moment to allow ourselves to better understand our true identity and the identities of others. It allows us to break down complex ideas and events into an intricate series of memorized details. I work best when I’m at my desk at home, as my brain often develops its best ideas when I’m left alone in silence with my own thoughts. I was inspired to create this piece in reflection of my first season as a member of the Canton Cross Country Team, as this piece reflects a moment in which I displayed courage in overcoming a major form of adversity as a student athlete.