POV: You’re the theater kid that became Athlete of the Year

If you were curious about what hell feels like, I recommend running the 400m on a high school track team. Maybe I’m being overdramatic, but I am a theatre kid, so it’s in my programming.

For reference, my parents met in a production of Shakespeare’s “Romeo and Juliet,” so when it came to extracurriculars growing up, organized sports were a foreign concept. I joined the track team my senior year, and I’m here to bring back my findings.

So, to all the kids who may have never done sports, but have sat through 10 hour rehearsals, memorized countless dance numbers, sipped Throat Coat like your life depended on it, here it is: my review of a high school track meet.

7:58 AM call time

Why 7:58 AM?

Because the coach said we’d remember if it was an uneven number. I remember it very well though because that is a horrible time to be at a school track field. Show call times are usually about two hours before the show since we need to do hair, makeup, vocal warm ups, stretches. My first race was at 1:00pm and my costume/jersey was already on, so what on earth were we preparing for? The snack line?

The venue itself looked like every other football stadium. Same bright green turf many players had their best performance on. As for the ticket booth, you can just sort of walk in. I recommend bringing lots of bags, so many bags. Not makeup bags, not hairspray, not stockings, bring everything I thought I might need. This included apple slices, Gatorade and a will to live.

Every team had their own little section on the bleachers where they set up tents to block out the blazing sun. Once I took my first seat on the cold metal, I began to miss those cushy coffee-scented seats I’d spent hours sitting on and watching shows from.

The weather in the morning was cold and stale. This was the calm before the storm. Soon the bright green plastic began to glow and come alive from all the heat and stomps and warm ups.

Once the sun began to slowly warm, I knew it was time to race. The air in the stadium smelled like a mix of dry dirt, plastic, sunscreen and hot dogs.

Once everyone had arrived I could see how they were all color coded in their costumes and easy to find. The girls are really intimidating. You know, like when you go to an audition and there’s always that girl doing triple pirouettes to psych you out. There’s a lot of blonde hair, rhinestoned spikes, and some do this thing where they slick their hair back with glitter gel.

I got flashbacks to being backstage when the other school girls would line up to do French braid trains.

The adults at the meet are the funniest part about it. There are the parents that are super super into it and really dedicated, but to an extreme. It reminds me of in ancient theatre when they’d host tragedies in Greece so people could go and cry to get their emotions out.

And boy, do they get their emotions out. I mean full-on screaming almost in tears hoping their child gets to the finish line first. The moms wear thick baseball hats, usually have a Lululemon jacket tied around their waist, leggings, a Stanley cup that perhaps may be filled with vodka cranberry and sunglasses to cover up the fact they probably haven’t slept in weeks leading up to this.

The dads also wear thick sunglasses and put on this serious face so they look like the Terminator. They scream at their sons to do better, followed by “When I was your age-”. Meanwhile now they have a thick beer-filled belly and their wife probably put them on Keto. Stage parents and track parents are very similar, in the way that both would pull a Tonya Harding if it meant their kid was on top.

After hours of waiting in a not-so-glamorous dressing room, also known as a small spot on the bleachers you’ve hidden yourself in and filled your mouth with peanut butter crackers, the coach will tell you to get your ass on the field. Showtime.

Warm ups are similar to dance warm ups and ballet moves. But never say that, or your male teammate will get upset. The sun is so hot, you’d wish it would just explode already and do us all a favor. Next thing you know it’s time. You’ll look over at the girls you’re racing against, and almost pee your pants.

Ready,

Set,

You hear a gun, a goddamn gun. Really? Track meets can have guns but we can’t do “Heathers” or “Spring Awakening”?

Full send, throw yourself forward as quickly as you can. Feel your feet burn, your heart race, your chest tighten and…

You’re done. Only 30 seconds.

You may have gotten last place in the race, but be proud of yourself for doing it!

You may not have won, but the girl who did probably can’t do the “Sexy” riff from “Mean Girls: The Musical.”

Now, you can take your bow.