Track and Field Blogs - Desiree Davila

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It’s been about two weeks since the trials race and I’ve had a good amount of time to reflect on the race now. I’ve also been able to catch up on all the amazing stories and events that took place within the race, and read all kinds of warm and fuzzy recaps of the day. Lets be honest though, it wasn’t all rainbows and butterflies out there, here is my story. My story is one of pain, heartbreak, and maybe just a touch of humor. If that damn Eggers hadn’t stolen it, I may have called this story, "A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius?" but what can I say, "all my favorite artists have stolen all of my best lines."

A Heartbreaking Work
I went into the Olympic Trials race with one goal in mind --Top 3. A few days before the race I had a quick meeting with Kevin and Keith and we discussed race scenarios, paces, and goals. During the meeting Kevin asked me what it would take to walk away from the race and be satisfied. With no hesitation I replied "making the team", anything else would be a disappointment for me. Now that may sound cocky or a bit bold, but based on my training and how I was feeling, I didn’t think this was too bold. Would it be difficult? Yes, but obtainable all the same. Come race day, as things unfolded and breaks were made, I stuck with my race plan and kept my goal in mind. Sure there are things that I might have done differently along the way, but at the end of the day I wouldn’t change my goal or how I raced that morning; I raced like I wanted to be an Olympian. I wasn’t interested in being top 5, setting a big PR, or a nice pay day. I fully committed myself when I needed to, in order to give myself a chance to be on the team. When I hit the 22nd mark and felt it slipping away it was truly heartbreaking. To want something so bad and after months, heck years, of hard work, and watch it slip away while you will your body to keep going after it and find no response was beyond frustrating to say the least.

of Staggering
The staggering is in the splits, when the legs were done they were DONE. I crawled home at a nice cool down pace, but my legs screamed like it was the last 100m of a 400m sprint. I watched as the race passed me by and unfolded in front of me. Offering words of encouragement to those who blazed by, I would stagger across the line several minutes behind them. The minute I finished I knew I need some sugar in my body right away, so I reached for the nearest Powerade, downed it greek life style and walked over to the nearby curb to have a seat.

Genius?
Enter "Athlete Support Woman," who would say the cruelest words in the sweetest voice. First, "That’s not a good idea to sit there. Maybe you should get up and walk around?" I could already tell we weren’t going to be friends, but I complied and stood up, and she kindly offered to give me a massage. Skeptical, I walked towards her massage table secretly wondering if I could coax Mel into massaging me instead. She didn’t look too interested, something about being too tired?! Athlete Support Woman took control and began to poke and prod me while I lay on the massage table. Laying there I realized that I am incredibly sleepy and all I want to do is doze off for a while. Athlete Support Women decides this is another bad idea, and every time I slip into sweet reverie she jerks me back to consciousness MAKING me talk to her. "That’s asking a lot, as I am a firm believer that silence is golden. Don’t you know this Athlete Support Woman?" She does not, and continues our meaningless conversation with questions like, "Do you know where you are?" Blah, small talk! As she wraps up the massage and prepares to kick me off her table she offers me another Powerade. Maybe a little more sugar will make me better at the "art of conversation?" She offers me a neon red Fruit Punch or nice pastel yellow Lemon-Lime flavor, "Fruit Punch sounds delicious" I reply, and then she pulls the last straw. I reach my hand out and Athlete Support shocks me by handing me the heaviest Powerade ever made. "My God, when did they start making these in 100oz. bottles Athlete Support Woman? You can tell I don’t lift weights and you are punishing me, aren’t you?!" I wrestled off the top of the bottle, and at that exact moment the stars and moons aligned and the world made sense again. The 100oz bottle of bright red Powerade came tumbling out of my hand and fell 5 feet down to the earth and exploded at the feet of Athlete Support Woman. "Sweet redemption" I thought, but apologized profusely. With disgust in her eyes she said it was no problem, and in her newly tie dyed jeans and sneakers she sloshed away. Picking the neon red Powerade over the Lemon Lime, genius?

In the end, I guess every story does have a little warm and fuzzy in there, or at least a good lesson. Mine is no different. At the end of the day it was an amazing experience, one I will never forget. The crowd support was incredible and I was lucky to have friends and family fly in from across the country just to be there. It was great to see everyone and catch up with some old friends and some OLD friends. At the end of the day I had a blast; I walked away with my second marathon under my belt and a little bit of fuel for the fire. Next time out I won’t be such a wiener with 6 miles to go.