I've been racing since I was four years old.
I won my first major race at seven, and I was on the podium at the Iron kids National Championships by eight. If I count them all, I've had well over 175 podium finishes, over 100 victories, a national championship, four team titles and 20 individual AHSAA titles so far with the opportunity for more in the outdoor season.
I'm headed to run at Duke University in the fall, and you would think I'd be over high school track and field. But that is not the case.
This 'last lap,' the last season of competition in high school, will be savored.
Like the last Chick-fil-A nugget … like the final episode of my latest binge watch.
I don't want it to end.
I still plan to take in every meet, every obnoxiously loud starter pistol, every conversation, every cheer both for and against, every hour in the car traveling, every Tabata, every pistol squat, every elbow, every stale pretzel, every "lemme see your wristband," every spike check, every overcrowded malodorous tent, every "get off the infield," every dilapidated E.coli infested restroom, every reminder to eat your spinach, every freezing cold warmup, every blisteringly hot 3,200, and you guessed it, the sweet note of every single bell signifying my last lap.
The athletes I've competed against -- even the meanest -- have made me a kinder person.
The coaches that spent their time pushing me well past my limits, and making me ache the next morning, made me a stronger person.
My parents meticulously ensured that I never miss a mark with regard to core work, stretching, ice bath, compression boots, red light therapy, Thera gun massage, nutrition, sleep, and so on -- honestly, they taught me how to pay attention to detail -- and ultimately made me a more focused person.
Every official and volunteer that served at a meet made me a more compliant person.
Everyone who stressed me out prior to a race taught me to adapt to handle a much greater load than I could've imagined, this made me a more resilient person.
The friends I made at practice, at meets, and on social media, made me a happier person.
The opportunities given to me by administrators and coaches to captain our teams allowed me to hone my leadership skills and make a much bigger, positive impact than I could have by myself.
Team leadership made me a more compassionate person.
Honestly, I could go on for a few more pages about what our sport and the people in our sport have done for me. You get the point. If anyone ever tells you that sports are not important, they are showing their ignorance.
Running and my faith have made me who I am, and I'm grateful I get to run for four more years in the ACC with Duke.
That being said, I still plan to take in every meet, every obnoxiously loud starter pistol, every conversation, every cheer both for and against, every hour in the car traveling, every Tabata, every pistol squat, every elbow, every stale pretzel, every "lemme see your wristband," every spike check, every overcrowded malodorous tent, every "get off the infield," every dilapidated E.coli infested restroom, every reminder to eat your spinach, every freezing cold warmup, every blisteringly hot 3,200, and you guessed it, the sweet note of every single bell signifying my last lap.
My hope is that you take the time to absorb all that makes up our sport and focus on the positive side of even the items you viewed as negatives long before you break the tape of that final race and hear the starter say, "move it off the track ladies."
The earlier in your career you can accomplish this feat, the more complete you will become.
Gone for a run,
Presley Miles, Saint James '21
