I think I imagine a track- like the type you run on. Run away from a lion. Or a monkey. Or maybe even a serial killer. Who could be tracking you, like the creepy vampire, James, in twilight. He’s tracking you on a track. While he’s doing this, his feet are tracking mud all over the track which he is using to track you.
And I think that’s as deep as my inception can go.
Over and over. It spins. The music plays, while my mind is slowly eroded into nothing. My thoughts disappear, and I slowly fade into the sound. Soon enough I’ll be gone, another soul lost in the hopeless noise, the pulse, the beat, and the rhythm. I am nothing until the track ends. Nothing.
The track at SJCC was my early morning stomping grounds (literally) for a good six or eight years . I would arrive there around 4:30 or 5:00 in the pitch dark morning and proceed to run around and around and around – 20 times – to make my 5 miles. I was crazy. It was pitch dark. There were a million hiding places. I could have been murdered or raped or the target of some looney. But I went anyway. I was stupid and lucky.
“Watch where you’re putting your elbow, you big oaf!”
“Stop calling me-!”
“Boys!” The stern teacher’s voice brought the appropriate silence to the rowdy group of young althletes. “Must I remind you that this is an incredible honor and treating it as anything less than the privelege it is will result in a one-way trip home?”
There were no immediate answers, but the few nervous shuffles said enough.
The man sighed. “So good of you all to listen.” He snapped. “Now then, this track is a one-of-a-kind and you will be having your shoes checked before you even think of stepping onto it. I expect to see your warm-ups and cool-downs without having to breathe down your necks and I expect you to make use to the facilities and the assistance offered. Now then, shall we?”
I sometimes wish I ran track. Although I’m not even a good runner. I die every time I run. So I guess it’s a good thing I don’t do track because I heard it involves a lot of running.
We walked around the track silently
Uncaring of the runners passing us by.
We talked and talked and told stories
With such ease. Words spilling from our lips
Uncaring of the ears of passerby’s.
track. track and field, track my progress, track the days the months the years until– until– what. they are getting rid of the mens’ track and field team at the local college because they need to save money. more than anything I hope that men realize it is still possible to run. the women, I suppose, know this already. their feet are flames and their tongues waggle in their mouths like salamanders in sun.
When you ask me if I’ve been on track with all my dreams and aspirations, I tell you I’m a mixed CD of various genres, just trying to make someone–anyone–listen to whatever I’m trying to prove.
i already did track wtf this is the third time i did track. Am i getting troll track haha im such a track are you a track jk your mom is a track. track track track track then i was on track and i died
We weren’t really allowed on the other side of the chain link fence surrounding our school, but that never stopped us. Waiting until all authoritative eyes were turned away, we would slip as quietly as children could through the jagged hole in the fence and escape into the tangled forest waiting on the other side. Every time we would follow our well-worn path until I, an impatient and reluctantly-elected leader and naturally the one who would inevitably catch the blame for these unguided excursions, would wander off the beaten track. Whether they followed me or not wasn’t important; I viewed those unsupervised woods as my own special place to be alone and the others as my irrelevant tag-alongs. There I could climb a tree and look out over the distant marshlands and a vast expanse of meadow and hope, undisturbed, that I would get the chance to explore every inch, every tree and stream and rock of what I could see.
As always, the adults would eventually notice our abscence and come crashing through the undergrowth after us, interrupting the calm sound of spring birdsong and frog choruses. They would trample plants and ruin the feeling of nature’s privacy, and somehow always managed to be louder than any of us. Never holding nature in much of a high regard, they always succeeded in dragging us back to school and indoors where they thought we belonged.
i was running track and i was tracking how many tracks i did around the track then my friend track was like OMG your such a track and im like fo sho track so we did the high track were so cool bro track. Dude last night i was at track and this track chick was like NONONNO im a track -tive HAHAHAHA get it a track -tive IM GOING to die alone in a track haha who wants to track with me bro im such a track
I sometimes wish I ran track. Although I’m not even a good runner. I die every time I run. So I guess it’s a good thing I don’t do track because I heard it involves a lot of running.
There are multiple tracks, four to be exact. I have chosen mine, but it was not my initial choice. I changed my mind last minute. It was when she said “You know, if you become a school counselor, you’ll be dealing with people like me and their screwed up kids like A******.” That was when I knew I needed something else.
She bent forward and placed her hands on the rugged ground, feeling the rubber beneath her fingertips. She scraped her shoes for good measure. Her heart was racing, and the arena was silent. With the air-piercing crack of the gun, she leaned forward, felt her muscles roar, and began the race of her life.
She jogged along the pathway. Hips swaying. I merely followed in her tracks, my movements matching hers. My arms swaying in time with her stride, matching her every move. My fingers twitching and changing the playlist like she did. Everything she did I matched. And she didn’t even notice.
For I was just her shadow, sitting in the background.
I stepped onto the lonely road and stuffed my frozen hands into my pockets. Breath came out like wifts of smoke on the gentle breeze that blew over the land. I crouched down, touched the print.
“That’s a bear track, mate.” I straightened with a start, looking around.
i was on a field track a time ago when a saw a giant tree with beautiful leaves moving in the wind: i had to stop to look at it because something was glowing.
Keep on track. Keep on track. Keep on tracking. Keep on Trucking, Key on Trucking. Coupon Lacking, Dinner Snacking. Miner backing. What, wait a minute let me start over.
The day someone I know very well figured out a sport they excelled at. Track. Ironic I thought, that the one sport they did better than anything else, was running as fast as they could, trying with all their might to get away from, and be ahead of, everyone else. Running… in circles. A great big circle. This was the sport they did best.
it is now time to get off of the path i had thought to be the right track, the one thought to be leading me to the irreplaceable haapiness i had contained just a year ago, and face my reality. people change, and relationships, friendships – they cannot be forced. this is not what i wanted. hidden under the welcoming eyes lays depection and unmet expectations.
They were tracking the werewolves across the heath. It was cold and dark and miserable. The wolves were within sight, chasing after a large buck they had frightened onto the heath – deer were rarely seen out this far. The weresolves must have been from even further south than anticipated.
Round and curvy, the track was no challenge for me. I had expected torturous mountain peaks and rocky obstacles. Instead, what came about was almost too good to be true–a simple path with no obstacles whatsoever. The only thing I had to do was pump the pedals. I felt the adrenaline rushing through my veins as the track stretched on. While it was a simple track for the most part, the only disadvantage to any biker who used the track was that there were no uphill and downhill parts.
the place where you run like mad. trying to cross the finish line before the other runners do. you don’t look back, you just run as fast as your legs will carry you, hopefully to finish first on the track….
I tracked the footprints back to the tree. There he was, sitting up in the tree as usual. Only this time, no smile played upon his face. Not a single part of him looked jubilant. In place of a smile, tears silently raced down his cheek.
she tracked back through her mind to see if she could find the exact point where it all went wrong. there were the long nights of empty wine bottles, the all too blurry days of headaches and excuses. the heavy eyelids and dark glasses. then came the bruises. and the pain. liver failure is not a cup of tea
Everything was rushing by, the wind, the leaves, the light Autumn scents. I could feel my heart pumping as I pushed myself around the final corner, ahead by a few feet, no one to stop me as I crossed the line. With one final burst of speed I… trip.
I ran around the track today and did my best time. They said I was too old to train but I’ve shown them all. I’ll do my first race next month, so see you on the track.
I think I imagine a track- like the type you run on. Run away from a lion. Or a monkey. Or maybe even a serial killer. Who could be tracking you, like the creepy vampire, James, in twilight. He’s tracking you on a track. While he’s doing this, his feet are tracking mud all over the track which he is using to track you.
And I think that’s as deep as my inception can go.
Why bother to stay on track? Sometimes spiraling off can be just as wonderful.
Over and over. It spins. The music plays, while my mind is slowly eroded into nothing. My thoughts disappear, and I slowly fade into the sound. Soon enough I’ll be gone, another soul lost in the hopeless noise, the pulse, the beat, and the rhythm. I am nothing until the track ends. Nothing.
The track at SJCC was my early morning stomping grounds (literally) for a good six or eight years . I would arrive there around 4:30 or 5:00 in the pitch dark morning and proceed to run around and around and around – 20 times – to make my 5 miles. I was crazy. It was pitch dark. There were a million hiding places. I could have been murdered or raped or the target of some looney. But I went anyway. I was stupid and lucky.
“Whoa.”
“Stand back, I can’t see.”
“Hey!”
“Ow!”
“Watch where you’re putting your elbow, you big oaf!”
“Stop calling me-!”
“Boys!” The stern teacher’s voice brought the appropriate silence to the rowdy group of young althletes. “Must I remind you that this is an incredible honor and treating it as anything less than the privelege it is will result in a one-way trip home?”
There were no immediate answers, but the few nervous shuffles said enough.
The man sighed. “So good of you all to listen.” He snapped. “Now then, this track is a one-of-a-kind and you will be having your shoes checked before you even think of stepping onto it. I expect to see your warm-ups and cool-downs without having to breathe down your necks and I expect you to make use to the facilities and the assistance offered. Now then, shall we?”
I sometimes wish I ran track. Although I’m not even a good runner. I die every time I run. So I guess it’s a good thing I don’t do track because I heard it involves a lot of running.
We walked around the track silently
Uncaring of the runners passing us by.
We talked and talked and told stories
With such ease. Words spilling from our lips
Uncaring of the ears of passerby’s.
track. track and field, track my progress, track the days the months the years until– until– what. they are getting rid of the mens’ track and field team at the local college because they need to save money. more than anything I hope that men realize it is still possible to run. the women, I suppose, know this already. their feet are flames and their tongues waggle in their mouths like salamanders in sun.
When you ask me if I’ve been on track with all my dreams and aspirations, I tell you I’m a mixed CD of various genres, just trying to make someone–anyone–listen to whatever I’m trying to prove.
i already did track wtf this is the third time i did track. Am i getting troll track haha im such a track are you a track jk your mom is a track. track track track track then i was on track and i died
We weren’t really allowed on the other side of the chain link fence surrounding our school, but that never stopped us. Waiting until all authoritative eyes were turned away, we would slip as quietly as children could through the jagged hole in the fence and escape into the tangled forest waiting on the other side. Every time we would follow our well-worn path until I, an impatient and reluctantly-elected leader and naturally the one who would inevitably catch the blame for these unguided excursions, would wander off the beaten track. Whether they followed me or not wasn’t important; I viewed those unsupervised woods as my own special place to be alone and the others as my irrelevant tag-alongs. There I could climb a tree and look out over the distant marshlands and a vast expanse of meadow and hope, undisturbed, that I would get the chance to explore every inch, every tree and stream and rock of what I could see.
As always, the adults would eventually notice our abscence and come crashing through the undergrowth after us, interrupting the calm sound of spring birdsong and frog choruses. They would trample plants and ruin the feeling of nature’s privacy, and somehow always managed to be louder than any of us. Never holding nature in much of a high regard, they always succeeded in dragging us back to school and indoors where they thought we belonged.
i was running track and i was tracking how many tracks i did around the track then my friend track was like OMG your such a track and im like fo sho track so we did the high track were so cool bro track. Dude last night i was at track and this track chick was like NONONNO im a track -tive HAHAHAHA get it a track -tive IM GOING to die alone in a track haha who wants to track with me bro im such a track
tracks? like a track pad? like on a mac as in the apple computer. created by the apple company which was created by Steve Jobs.
run, run away, Jared Braden, agony, 6th grade, Harley, Sammy, Bath&Body works, birthday party, cupcakes, Avril Lavinge, Kelly Clarkson, lemon, pink, Katy Perry, love, sunshine.
I sometimes wish I ran track. Although I’m not even a good runner. I die every time I run. So I guess it’s a good thing I don’t do track because I heard it involves a lot of running.
There are multiple tracks, four to be exact. I have chosen mine, but it was not my initial choice. I changed my mind last minute. It was when she said “You know, if you become a school counselor, you’ll be dealing with people like me and their screwed up kids like A******.” That was when I knew I needed something else.
She bent forward and placed her hands on the rugged ground, feeling the rubber beneath her fingertips. She scraped her shoes for good measure. Her heart was racing, and the arena was silent. With the air-piercing crack of the gun, she leaned forward, felt her muscles roar, and began the race of her life.
The track team runs right near my house. Sometimes I want to watch her, in her tight uniform, her strong legs pumping under a jacket of sweat.
But I don’t. I don’t go. That part of my life, our life, is over. There’s no use. She’s gone, and I’m not whole. She can stop running.
I can’t.
basketball
running
movie
cd
music
8 track
ruining lives across the world
olympics
team
training
Am I on the right track? Have I EVER been on the right track. I think not. No matter what “222” might say. I just can’t get over her.
She jogged along the pathway. Hips swaying. I merely followed in her tracks, my movements matching hers. My arms swaying in time with her stride, matching her every move. My fingers twitching and changing the playlist like she did. Everything she did I matched. And she didn’t even notice.
For I was just her shadow, sitting in the background.
I stepped onto the lonely road and stuffed my frozen hands into my pockets. Breath came out like wifts of smoke on the gentle breeze that blew over the land. I crouched down, touched the print.
“That’s a bear track, mate.” I straightened with a start, looking around.
i was on a field track a time ago when a saw a giant tree with beautiful leaves moving in the wind: i had to stop to look at it because something was glowing.
running free with no where to go, feet pounding the asphalt with light thuds
the right track, the off track. You decision your life.
Keepin track of your tasks for school, life, family, and friends
a track to tread on. what’s most difficult to do is which track to choose, whether i should know where it’s leading or not.
Tracking your tracks is no easy task- but I’ve got a flashlight and a slick sleazy mask.
track my suit
track in my arm
track star
tracktor
on the smart track
Keep on track. Keep on track. Keep on tracking. Keep on Trucking, Key on Trucking. Coupon Lacking, Dinner Snacking. Miner backing. What, wait a minute let me start over.
How to keep your track when you leave no marks?
How to keep living without you?
Bad leader your are
that leave no track.
Track
The day someone I know very well figured out a sport they excelled at. Track. Ironic I thought, that the one sport they did better than anything else, was running as fast as they could, trying with all their might to get away from, and be ahead of, everyone else. Running… in circles. A great big circle. This was the sport they did best.
it is now time to get off of the path i had thought to be the right track, the one thought to be leading me to the irreplaceable haapiness i had contained just a year ago, and face my reality. people change, and relationships, friendships – they cannot be forced. this is not what i wanted. hidden under the welcoming eyes lays depection and unmet expectations.
They were tracking the werewolves across the heath. It was cold and dark and miserable. The wolves were within sight, chasing after a large buck they had frightened onto the heath – deer were rarely seen out this far. The weresolves must have been from even further south than anticipated.
I started to wonder, at first, if I was on track. Or question what it even means to be on track?
Is there even an objective track? I feel like that’s something my high school philosophy professor would have told me to question?
Round and curvy, the track was no challenge for me. I had expected torturous mountain peaks and rocky obstacles. Instead, what came about was almost too good to be true–a simple path with no obstacles whatsoever. The only thing I had to do was pump the pedals. I felt the adrenaline rushing through my veins as the track stretched on. While it was a simple track for the most part, the only disadvantage to any biker who used the track was that there were no uphill and downhill parts.
the place where you run like mad. trying to cross the finish line before the other runners do. you don’t look back, you just run as fast as your legs will carry you, hopefully to finish first on the track….
I tracked the footprints back to the tree. There he was, sitting up in the tree as usual. Only this time, no smile played upon his face. Not a single part of him looked jubilant. In place of a smile, tears silently raced down his cheek.
she tracked back through her mind to see if she could find the exact point where it all went wrong. there were the long nights of empty wine bottles, the all too blurry days of headaches and excuses. the heavy eyelids and dark glasses. then came the bruises. and the pain. liver failure is not a cup of tea
The train is on the track. The track is of the train. I am on track with my life and children. My children and life are not on track with me.
Everything was rushing by, the wind, the leaves, the light Autumn scents. I could feel my heart pumping as I pushed myself around the final corner, ahead by a few feet, no one to stop me as I crossed the line. With one final burst of speed I… trip.
I ran around the track today and did my best time. They said I was too old to train but I’ve shown them all. I’ll do my first race next month, so see you on the track.