Yesterday I went to Stanfield to watch my brother's track meet. Track was never a sport I could fully grasp. I get that it is more an individual sport than a team sport, but that in and of itself makes it less desirable to me. Then again, I am much more a team player and prefer a sport where the entire 'game' rests in my hands (or feet). So track is really a glorified and organized "look what I can do" session. A time to parade in front of fellow athletes to prove once and for all who is better.
Don't get me wrong, I enjoyed watching my brother compete. He's good at what he does. He works hard at it -- practices at ungodly hours of the morning -- and sees the fruits of his labor during a meet. The funny thing is, he doesn't choose what he competes in, the coaches do. Often times this means he competes in events he may not be the most skilled for.
Well he only competed in one event this time (it really looked like a small, less-organized meet), and since it's impossible to determine when exactly he'd start, we arrived an hour after the meet supposedly started only to sit another half-hour to an hour waiting for his single event. During that time, I yelled at a kid who looked like my brother just chillaxin on the field, ate meager crumbs of Doritos chips, and talked to my brother's coach (who just happened to be a good friend of mine); all this time shivering in the cold wind (despite my three layers of shirts/sweatshirt)that would not stop blowing.
I'm proud of my brother. He came in second place even though he started out way ahead of everyone....sadly he was overtaken in the last bend. But I know he was really excited for his placement, and so I am really excited for his placement. I was even more excited about getting out of the incessant wind.
I will never truly understand track or even fully enjoy it. But for the sake of my brother, I am willing to withstand the weather and watch his events -- even if it means standing out in the cold for an hour for a 60-second event.
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