The Stress Response of Timeliness

*First essay written for my Comp 1 class - I received an A*

I had finally made it. I had moved away from home and was settled not only in a new town, but a new state as well. I had received a track scholarship, not exactly at my dream school, but was willing to test the waters at a Junior College in El Dorado, Kansas.

            Being from the city of Edmond, where the roofs of the houses are high, but the people’s noses are higher, where we believe Edmond could be it’s own state (even though it’s smaller than Tulsa, Jenks, and even Oklahoma City for that matter) I was not used to the marble-sized town of El Dorado. Not that I’m anything like the people in Edmond, not everybody is. I lived with my mom and our two dogs in a townhouse on the “poor end” of the “rich end” of Edmond; but still.

In El Dorado after about 10PM the stoplights changed to a flashing yellow light, the streets resembled the streets of a desolate, abandoned town, and it was silent. Too silent. So far I wasn’t a fan. But none-the-less, I was getting to do what I adored, run.

            My first night I received a text from my coach, Coach Greg, that read “See you all at the CTC at 5:45AM. Don’t be late.”. Is it too late to call my mom, tell her it was physically (and mentally and probably emotionally too) impossible for me to get up at that time? Was it too late to ask her to turn around, come pack up all my belongings, and head back home? I decided that answer was yes.

            The first week wasn’t too bad. At the completion of my senior year, I received some of the best track related advice ever given. It was, “Nobody wants to do it. It’s truly not easy for anybody. You do it because you have to.” For me, that just made sense. That stuck with me and is honestly what pulled me through. I made it the first week with very few problems. And I was never, ever late.

            I was worried sick about being late. We were always told not to be, and I had seen my teammates receive punishments ranging from a slap on the wrist to death by five 400’s with one minute rest. (Not literal death of course. Although by the way they lay out on the track, their bodies spread out like stars, and their eyes looking at their brains, it was hard to tell) I had vowed that that would never be me.

            So as the second week began my brain somehow got extremely wrapped up around the thought of being late. So much so that by Wednesday night I was waking up close to every hour, checking the time and calculating how many hours of sleep I had left; which was followed by even more calculations of how much longer I had until I needed to be up. It was exhausting.

            Then there was Thursday night. I had gone to bed at a fairly reasonable time, wasn’t really worried about being too tired when I woke up, and was feeling all around at ease. Of course I woke around 1:50AM and checked my phone. Still not too worried, and dozed back to my dreams. When I woke up again, reaching lazily over to my phone, my eyes only read the numbers “:54”. Nine minutes late. I was going to get it.

            I darted from my bed as if I was a bullet leaving a barrel. Scrambling, I threw on the first pair of clothes my hands touched. I then saw the mass in the bed next to mine that was the curled up, sleeping body of my roommate. I knew she needed to report by 6:00AM so I figured it would best to wake her up. Once I knew she was awake I headed out the door, leaving her sitting in the middle of her bed, rubbing her eyes, confused.

            Once I made it to t he parking lot I realized I had parked about half a block away. So I started running, no, I was sprinting. Never had I had better form, higher hips, propelling off the balls of my feet than in that moment. Once I got to my car I started praying that the coach would be late (this was actually very possible). That, and that alone would be my safeguard.

            Speeding through the parking lot, my eyes searched for the little red dots that were the taillights of my teammates running cars. Nothing. The parking lot was dark. Shoot, the coach was on time and I was in fact late. Very late.

            As I got closer I realized I didn’t see any “dots” because was the parking lot wasn’t just dark, it was empty. Not a car, not a soul. I sat there, puzzled. I instantly became very confused and wondered if it was maybe Saturday or maybe coach had cancelled weights. But I knew both to be false. And that’s when it happened. I looked at the clock again.

            Never had I had a harder “palm-to-face” moment than right then. The clock read “2:57AM”. Impossible. There was no way I had made such a mistake, expect here was a way, because I had. I hesitantly picked up the phone to call my roommate. She answered, “You on your way back? I wondered where you were going, but I knew you’d be back.”

            Moments later, and extremely embarrassed, I wandered back into my dorm where I was greeted by a chuckling roommate. “Hey, three hours early is better than one minute late, right?” my roommate said, taunting me. “Goodnight… again.” I replied.

            And to this day I have never been late.