Don't you agree? It seems like in this world, it isn't enough doing your utmost in everything you do. it is the timing of how things develop that decides what actually happens.
You can train for months for the National Cross-country Championships, and the week before the race and after qualifying well for the finals, because you'd been training so hard for it, you fall sick. Although you know that even on a normal day, you won't win but at least you won't disappoint. However, because you fell sick, all that months of training has been wasted. You insist on running despite the coach telling you that you should not run. But you argue that this is the last year you can represent your school in the biggest race in the Singaporean schools' athletics calendar. You convince yourself that you are fit enough. Although the sickness has lowered your resistance and practically rendered any training you had in the last half a year useless, you steadfastly, stubbornly and arrogantly believed in your natural ability. After all, way back in sec 1, you had been the captain and best runner on the team. No one in the school could catch you and you took home gold medal after gold medal. For the past three years, for your level within your school, you'd been practically undefeated over this distance. Thus you decided that you'll risk the championship hopes of your team, knowing that your top 4 runners can do the job required of them. You decided to risk your own health. You jolly know well how many super fit people have just dropped dead because they exercised while having the flu.
You take to the starting line. Heart pounding against the much sought after red vest that symbolises the School Team. You take a deep breath as you wait for the gun.
As soon as the gun blows, you sprint out in your usual style of opening a race - leading the whole contingent out to prevent yourself being boxed in as there were more than a hundred people squeezing into a very tiny track. Track position is everything.
You feel good at the 1 km mark. The better runners have broken into their stride and have moved swiftly passed you. You'd done part of your job and opened up a path for your fellow teammates. Now it's up to them to bring honour to your school. Now your job is to look for the rival team and try to stay in front of your designated opposition.
As the 2km approaches and the dreaded steep down-then-even steeper-uphill approaches as well. This is the part of the course which will shape out how the rest of the race will be. You sprint down, however as you go up the steep gradient, you feel your chest heaving. You know something is wrong and you know that your race is over. You tell yourself, just keep with it..the second wind will come. You labour through your steps. More and more people sweep pass you. You let your head drop. Your pace slows to a crawl.
You stop. Your legs will carry you no further, your throat is filled with phelgm. You struggle to get oxygen into your lungs. You exit the forested part of the course. You can see the Lornie Road sign. You know that you are over the halfway mark. But you head has dropped. You'd let down your school. Your coach who had been a fatherly figure over the 4 years you'd spent in the school, patiently mentoring and bringing out the best in you. Your team, who has never let you down. Your friends, who had come to support you. Your classmates, who at one time relied on you to lead the class's cross-country team to victory. And your class has never lost the inter-class cross country races. You had been used to success. But now you are walking towards the finishing line, with your head hung.
You approach the final bend. You tell yourself, "My friends cannot see me walking." So you picked up a slow jog. As you approach the final stretch, you see the figure of your coach walking towards the finishing line as well. Knowing that you should have heeded his advice and not run, you feel remorse for being so headstrong. As you close the gap between him, you shouted out to him, "Sorry, Sir!" knowing that it would mean nothing if your actions had cost your team the title. You gave your last burst of energy to run towards the finishing line which is now about 400m away.
Suddenly you heard someone shout, "It's Jansen!!"
I looked around, and saw the most amazing sight I'd ever seen.
Lining both sides of the road, was a sea of white, and yellow and black.
Victorians filled the slopes overlooking the final stretch.
Then everyone started to cheer my name. Emotions surged through me, I'd let them down, but here they are still supporting me. I had to respond, and raised my arms to acknowledge their support as I sprinted towards the finishing line. Their cheers lifted me and gave life back into my legs as I crossed the finishing line.
They'd never left me.
The Victorian Spirit lives.
I walked over towards where my team was resting, and all I could say was, "Sorry, guys." And then I went to sit by a tree, as tears engulfed me. My teammates came over to console me, and told me that we'd won. Our top 4 runners did it. I was delighted, but felt empty at the same time. I'd contributed nothing.
Timing is everything.
** That was what happened during the 1998 National Cross-country Championships finals. Certain parts of the story has been dramatised, but everything did in fact happen, especially the last part about the Victorian Spirit. My classmates were indeed waiting along the slopes for me. As soon as they saw me, they started cheering my name which prompted the whole school, or at least those that were there to do likewise. The cheers were deafening. I can only wish that they were able to cheer me on as I competed against our old rivals, instead of how I languished at the tail end. **
