Toil & trouble, track & tussle

There are two very different local tracks that I like to visit for my workout days. The most popular of these two is the historic, world-record breaking Ferry Field track in Ann Arbor, MI. It has a magical Hogwarts-like appearance from the surrounding architecture of the intramural sports building. The track is clean and pristine. It always has an eastward wind on the back straight away that is waiting to put up a fight, and everyone can tell you about the flooding that happens around the initial turn during a rainstorm. 

Ferry Field is generally bustling with local runners, a variety of Ann Arbor club teams and even olympic medalists such as Nick Willis. At times, this track can feel overwhelming from the many professional and national level athletes that have graduated University of Michigan and found themselves settled in the city. Personally, I like being amongst these athletes and club teams, as everyone is creating their own challenge and chipping away at personal goals. It is inspiring.

But there is one other track that I have recently found myself enjoying. This one does not hold world records, fast Strava segments (never should I hold the #2 female position for 400 meters, but alas I do), nor is it visited by professional athletes. One that is not as well known, maybe a touch broken down, maybe it has a dilapidated “NO PETS” sign.

This particular track doesn’t seem to have a name anymore, even the all-knowing Google has no remembrance of it. It’s not bouncy, turfed, or orange and it does not hold the fresh track smell. Instead it is a black span of concrete, scattered plastic bottles and rusted bleachers. You can tell it welcomed many people at one time. Lane one is riddled with cracks, ruts and metastasizing weeds developed by hard-earned personal records and the passage of time.

I call this place “Clark Track” in Ypsilanti, MI. This is a different track than Ferry Field. I am fortunate to have this unpopular, rundown track when the moment calls for digging deep and wanting to be left alone to my own demise. I tend to be the fastest runner on any given day as most of the locals seem to utilize the track for social exercise, often walking-jogging before retiring for the day. 

Today, there are two ladies walking in lane six. Based on the t-shirt, one of the women works at Michigan Medicine. She’s wearing a recent “Caring, Teamwork, Gratitude” t-shirt that Michigan Medicine gave out during the height of the pandemic to all employees. You can tell they are the best of friends as they exchange stories and explode into belly-grasping laughter. I keep catching glances with them; I am jealous of their friendship and the fun they are having while staying active and healthy. 

Two women enjoying the tepid fall weather and walking loops at the abandoned high school “Clark Track”. September 2021, Ypsilanti, MI

There is also a boy, probably around the age of 12, running in lane two while his mother walks on the track. His lanky and uncoordinated form betrays a recent growth spurt. Today he is running every straightaway and jogging the turns. I pass him on the back straight away and we give each other a small nod acknowledging one another’s silent suffering. 

Occasionally, families bring their young children to the middle of the field for outdoor play time. This time it’s a father and son duo and it seems to be the son’s first football lesson. One of many, I’m sure. 

I look down at my watch and catch myself a little surprised. While I was observing others, my workout was getting away from me. I had completed my 12 reps of 200 meters on and 200 meters off. My workout was over. A flickering light suddenly flips on as the sun begins to set. The sky burns with orange, red and pink. I’m about to close out the track with the remaining members. We have left our sweat out on this track and are gearing to head home. I’ll see these walkers and runners again. We are becoming regulars of this ghost ridden track.