The Library

There is a phenomenon I've been noticing on the track lately. I call it The Library.


It's fairly rare, maybe once every two weeks or so, but when it happens it's impossible to miss.


The entire team is running threshold intervals, and they are on the shorter side. 600m on the high end.

This is a time where everyone is focused inward, as the pace given is going to be far from a cakewalk. Around and around the symphonic beats strike to a different rhythm but to the same tune. As the line is crossed, the repetition ends and slowly the lone runners come together in groups and pairs to jog around the infield in between sets, keeping the legs warm. Twos and threes, sometimes fours and fives but never more than five. The infield is alive with the slow, recovering pace of weary footprints.



And everything is silent.



There's really nothing to talk about. A grunt of disdain, barely audible creeps it way out of those who are having a worse day than others. A hushed whisper between a pair on the other side of the field is completely inaudible to everyone else. Never intentionally - simply for lack of air.

There's really nothing to talk about. Everyone has been here countless hours, preparing for some far off test. Communication isn't necessary, and simply takes the mind off of the task at hand. What is important is focusing on yourself recovering, preparing, staying loose, and staying confident. positive. hopeful.


So we circle the field as a collective family of 50, stumbling along like lethargic ants in chaos; everything silent.


Because there's really nothing to talk about.