Gongshow At The Track

As any runner will tell you, the track is a pretty serious place.  You don’t spend any additional time than absolutely necessary there; you go, you work hard, and then you leave.

Although there is no official code of conduct at the track, it does have a library like atmosphere, with the exception of the sound of an occasional whistle, well meaning coaching and gasping for air, it is usually very quiet and peaceful, almost sacred.

Not so last night.

As I made my from my car to track I noticed one of those remote control planes flying erratically (I’m not kidding) overhead.   Not the kind of a plane that you would find at the toy store, the big ones that you buy from a hobby store and build.

The track is also a busy place.  There are the boot campers, the teams training, walkers and runners and last night sitting at the side of the track were four 20 something guys and the pilot of the plane.   In addition to all of the cigarette smoke there was a lot of testosterone and eff-bombs…ummm, hello library atmosphere and who smokes at the track?

The workout started and I tried to focus on the task at hand, but each time I passed the sausage party (it really was because now they had a boom box) I would notice other things, for instance the purse (notice I didn’t say murse) the pilot had across his chest.  Was it Coach? There was nothing masculine about it.  It looked like a swingpack and it didn’t work at all with his Affliction t-shirt, nylon track pants (the kind that make the swooshy sound when you walk) and flip flops.  Do you have the visual yet?

I tried not to pay any attention to the plane overhead, even though it felt like it was dive-bombing me for several laps.  That was until I felt it right behind me and I had to jump out of the way!  Man purse was using the track as a landing strip…I swear to God if that plane had hit me I would have lost my mind!  Now I have shared the track with toddlers, dogs even a tricycle, but never a plane.

I stopped for a quick water break and the plane disappeared as did their shirts and shoes (and the swing pack) and a Frisbee and a football appeared.  Pilot/man purse and three others then moved to the grass in the centre of the track for a friendly game of Frisbee or football or both, leaving a lone sausage bobbing his head up and down to the sound of his boom box…ok.

With the speed work over I was now well into the cool down. Just ahead of me a group of super perky teens asked a runner to take a picture of them posing  like they were in starting blocks on the track.  She stopped running and took their picture.   I was then accosted by the group who wanted to take a picture of them giving me a group hug.  Are you kidding me?  Scavenger hunt or not, sweaty people do not like to be touched by strangers and photographed.

I felt like I was on one of those ‘what would you do’ shows, and figured that at any moment John Quinones would pop out from behind the bleachers with his camera crew.

I finished my stretch quickly and got back in my car just as another carload of scavenger hunters pulled into the parking lot. Needless to say, I did not make eye contact.