My Favorite Road
Thinking back into my past, the one place that stands out to me the most is, believe it or not, a road. This particular road is not just like every other one; it is sadly, but surely, like a home to me. I have run on this road basically every day since the first day of my freshman year. It is odd that I have never become bored running down there so many times.
This dirt road is where I run after school for Cross Country and Track; it si called Fairchild. Memories of running with my teammates down Fairchild remind me of all the great times we shared together, the chasing of turkeys, the suspense of being pursued by a local canine, and our lengthy snowball fights. I remember the coldest days of the winter where we would have huge battles for hours and hours on end, there was no keeping score, just whoever gave up first, and the only thing we would have to show for our victories were our soggy, wet clothes. The smells that drift from the acres of farmland remind me of how good it is to be running, and I would not have it any other way.
Although there are a few disturbances along Fairchild, my team and I have found ways to cope with them. As people hoot and holler while driving by we just wave nicely and move out of their way. My favorite phrase (although it is not very original) is, “run, Forest, run!” I feel it takes extreme supremacy to come up with a phrase like that. Obviously I am being sarcastic. Another disturbance is the loosely packed dirt. Cars roar by us at great speeds and kick it all up in our faces. We have no choice but to squint our eyes, close our mouths, and bear with it. The Police should really monitor that road…The dust is enough to drive away most runners, but our love for running keeps us coming back for more.
On a hot day, nothing pleases me more than a gentle flowing breeze. The feeling it brings me will momentarily ease my mind from the heat and frustrations that running will bring. One other contribution to make the day even more simplistic is the sprinklers. You can ask anybody on the team, nothing compares to the effect of the sprinkler. The light drizzle of water on your back is just great. The simple pleasures Fairchild brings me.
I have also become habituated to the many sights on my road; the birds flying by, chirping ever so contently, the squirrels racing up the trees, the forests growing ever so much closer to the deep blue sky. The enormous farmlands made of corn that engulfs Fairchild. Containing the very goods we could quite perhaps consume at our local grocery store. The images are perfect! I notice other people living their lives as am I. That thought makes me feel free. I am boundless. I can accomplish anything. I can run faster. I love hearing the whistling of the wind as it blows gently through my long, shaggy hair. I feel the splashing of the mud as it reminds me of what it is like to be a young child again. There are many great things on Fairchild, almost too many.
Fairchild is one thing that makes me feel content with life. While on this road, there are no problems. There could be slight nuisances that may annoy me, but no immediate problems. This long, rugged road seems to go on for miles, six miles to be exact, six miles of my freedom. During these miles, my team and I have bonded like no other team, which to this day means so much more to me than anything. They are like a second family to me, my dearest of friends. My so-called family knows me as I know them. Seeing this road everyday builds character too, physically because I am running, and mentally because I am concentrating. The developments I have experienced on this road create my gateways to manhood. The sights and sounds of Fairchild have a special, sentimental meaning to me. No matter what day it is I always find myself returning to it, back to hearing, “run, Forest, run!” one more time. Back to getting dirt blown into my face, back to the seemingly never-ending stretch of pavement and dirt. This six-mile road means a lot to me, and although it may only be six miles long, it will last forever in my heart.
September 12th, 2003
6th Hour Creative Writing