I’ve had several false starts to writing this post. Hopefully, this is the real start. Today’s blog involves cross-country and the year 2016. It’ll make sense in a few paragraphs.
On May 20, I finished my junior year at Calvin University. In the days leading up to my last final, I already knew how I’d finish. Whether I was finishing a paper or taking an actual test, I would turn it in by slamming a fist down on the Enter button and then cementing my need for a new laptop by slamming my head down on the keyboard. When the day came, I finished my final paper for my math class, turned it in, and went downstairs to play Call of Duty.
Anticlimactic, innit?
It’s been a tough year for us Calvin kids. Even before coronavirus came sweeping in like a swarm of locusts, the Calvin community dealt with the deaths of three students and one professor, as well as a rape on campus. Not to mention the class of 2020 getting the tease of a lifetime by the school year ending weeks before graduation. I wrote a reflection on my sophomore year around this same time last year, but last year was different. Last year was difficult for me. This year was difficult for everybody (and still is).
I’ve been thinking about why I feel the way I do. I was expecting to feel some huge weight lifted off my shoulders, and yet what’s my reaction to the ending of a school year? Turning in my last assignment and proceeding to get destroyed by drop-shotters. Even now, as I write this blog post, the feeling I have in the moments I feel anything could be called “ambivalent.”
Here’s the connection to 2016. You guys remember 2016, the supposed “worst year ever”? In particular, you remember the last election? By the first month, I was sick of the candidates. By the time of election day, I didn’t care who won, because there was going to be riots no matter who would be sworn in, and judging by the article I linked, I’m not alone with that sentiment. TV Tropes has a term for my feelings about the Clinton-Trump race: Darkness-Induced Audience Apathy.
Maybe Darkness-Induced Audience Apathy is how a lot of us are feeling.
What we are accomplishing right now–whether that be finishing a school year, doing the best for kids, or merely getting out of bed to fight another day–may seem like measly blows against the faceless hulking enemy that is the COVID-19 global pandemic.
Which is where my cross-country season comes in.
One race was like every other race. I kept pace, ran three mile-long laps, and for the final stretch, put on a burst of speed, and crossed the finish line.
My legs then gave out, and I took one or two more steps before collapsing.
My mom, coach, and a few onlookers came to check on me. I got out of the way of incoming runners and recovered. To this day, I couldn’t tell you why.
But here’s my takeaway: collapsing at the finish line doesn’t change the fact that you crossed the finish line. An ungraceful finish is still a finish.
Another cross-country story: different race. I was nearing the end, approaching the bend where once I turned it I would break into a sprint. A competitor, a guy from another school, came behind me so we were neck and neck. “Let’s go,” he said, and he kept saying that as we turned the bend. “Let’s go. Let’s go! Let’s go! Let’s go! Let’s go!” We both broke into sprints and booked it for the finish line, the guy chanting the whole time. We crossed the finish line still neck and neck and congratulated one another.
Let this blog post be encouragement like Let’s Go Man. Press on, dear reader, and cross the finish line however you can. A happy Memorial Day to everyone and a congratulations to any graduates reading.
The Keene Chronicles 