I remember being just absolutely floored by it all my freshmen year, the only year I went to run in just one event. I remember it being a hot day, and because the Division system wasn�t it place yet, I ran against all of the girls from Class C schools, very much like tournaments are prepared for basketball or volleyball. The track was packed with nimble distance runners in a rainbow of different colored uniforms, and the sun beat down hard on us all. At that point I hardly even cared about my results for the race, I was more worried about trying to figure out what the bull pen was (the waiting area for the people running the next race) when to go on the track, and of course my breath was taken away by the enormous amount of people who were watching me, or rather, the race. As it was, I ran my best two mile time for that year. The whole day was just exhaustively exciting for me. I was one of the only freshmen who even qualified, and even the bus ride there with all of the seniors seemed amazing to me. I remember being so pumped up that when we got there we had to wear numbers on our jerseys, just like in big important races. It was so cool.

The next year was the same, save for my eyes weren�t as big as saucers that time, and we had to wear wrist bands instead of numbers. My sophomore year I qualified in both the mile and the two mile. I came in eighth in the mile and seventh in the two mile if I remember correctly. It was one of the coldest UP Finals in history. We had everything from snow to sleet to hail. I remember laying on the field, wrapped in both my winter coat and my green army blanket thinking about how wrong it was that I was going to have to get up, strip down into my paper thin track jersey, and run two miles. Needless to say, my times weren�t the greatest that year, but hey, I was still glad to be there competing in both my events.

My junior year was different. The weather was nice, and I was out to get a place and a medal for the first time. I started out that UP Final meet with the 3200 meter relay. I remember it being one of the funniest relays I ever ran. Between the first and second leg they dropped the baton, and by the time it got around to anchor leg, which was me, we were so far behind that I didn�t even make the effort to catch up. I finished way behind everyone else, with the dreaded mercy clap ringing all around me. I just wanted to shout out to the crowds that I really am a good runner; just you all wait until the mile! But I didn�t need to shout. My mile spoke for itself. I got my medal by finishing in fifth place, with a good time. I was so proud that day, I remember. My two mile left something to be desired, however, as I finished in eighth place. I left that meet feeling like I still had something left to give.

So last spring I found myself standing out in the middle of the field at UP Finals, looking up at the packed stands and the athletes spreading out around me. Earlier that morning I had run the 3200 meter relay. We finished in last again, but it was no big deal. I always called that relay my warm up race anyway. I was so pumped full of adrenaline and resolve that day. It was time I finally proved what my mile was made of. I knew I could run in the five minute and thirty second range today, and I was determined to. It was the last mile I would ever run, and in my mind I knew it not only had to be, but was going to be the best mile I ever ran. It was a lukewarm day with almost no breeze, perfect for running, and I stepped out onto the track feeling no nervous jitters. Gone were my days of being a wide-eyed freshman. Now I was the old pro, and looking up just once at the bleachers before I set off on the last mile of my career, I felt the presence of all the eyes staring down at me.

That mile was so insane; any runner with their determination set any softer than granite was bound to lose. I remember it all passing in what felt like dream-like format. I was just so damn determined that nothing, nothing was getting in my way. It was one of those races that the crowd loves. During the entire three first laps of the race every single one of us out there, eight in total, was running in this huge pack. We were passing each other left and right, only to be re-passed and passed again. I can�t even remember feeling tired. When you get into the zone you don�t feel a thing. It was almost as if my body knew not to mess with me at that point. I didn�t feel any aching legs or sore arm muscles. I hardly even felt my heavy runner�s breathing. I just pushed and pushed and pushed.

Finally on the last lap things started to spread out. I was in fourth place, just behind, and I couldn�t believe this, a girl from Escanaba that ran so well I never thought I�d find myself running behind her. I stuck with her super fast pace for the rest of the race. I remember being a freshman and seeing this girl lapping me in the two mile. She was that phenomenal, and there she was right in front of me. I really had become that good.

I remember not being able to believe that I was sprinting my last home stretch as I finished that race. I finished only a split second behind the girl in front of me. A good solid fourth. I could tell that the crowd had wanted me to pass her, but I was beyond that. I spent everything I had on that race, and knew, without a doubt, it was the best I could have done, and better than I ever had dreamed of doing.

It was funny, being finally finished with something that I loved so much, I didn�t even really care about the time or the place. I was so satisfied with the hard race I just ran, and so sad that it was finally over, it took me a minute for me to even realize that my coaches were calling out to me. I ran over to them with the tiny amount of strength I had left. It was like a dream, my coach holding out her stopwatch to me and yelling, "5:35!" I was so happy, though not surprised, I knew I had done well, but this was icing on the cake. For so long I had wanted to run a mile in the 5:30s. I was so happy. I remember somewhere finding the energy left in me to reach up and hug them both. In a dreamlike state I received the hugs and congratulations of my teammates. I grabbed my sweats and jogged up into the bleachers to find my parents. When I finally reached them my mom hugged me so hard, and when we let go I just remembered looking at my dad.

My dad has always been my coach in a way. He�s cheered me on through thick and thin, and it�s because of him more than anyone else that I have the attitude that I will not stop until I do my very best. He had the biggest smile on his face that day. I mean, he always smiles when he gives me a hug after a race, but that day it was just perfect. My dad�s always been there for me with his stopwatch, calling out times and cheering me on. He�s never failed me, and I�ll never forget how, when I�m falling behind on the backstretch of my last lap, my dad will be standing there, stopwatch in hand, cheering me on. That day though, I remember seeing him standing there with that far away look in his eyes he always gets when he�s so happy, and his chin was shaking just a little bit. I hugged him so hard, and he told me he was so proud. I was so full of joy I thought I would explode. It�s important to note that my dad doesn�t cry almost ever. Seeing him standing there with tears of joy or pride or whatever it was in his eyes that day is something that I will never forget.

After that, breaking tradition, my two mile great as well. Before the race began I started talking with some of the other runners and discovered that almost all of them were seniors about to run their last races ever as well. We all got together and wished each other luck for a good last race. That�s something about the long distance community, we look out for each other. We make friends. There�s just this feeling of connectedness. Like, we�re all out here to run this damn two mile together, it�s going to suck, but we�re going to do it anyway, and we�re going to have fun. I love it.

So, on the starting line we all gave each other big smiles and thumbs up. It wasn�t so much of a competition for me that day, the two mile, but more of a shout out to the world that I finished with a bang, that my name is Julie Hunt, I love track, and I�m so happy to leave my mark here. It was just amazing, and it went by in a blur. I tried to take everything in with all of my being. The sights and sounds. On the last lap I remember one of the girls giving everyone a big thumbs up and shouting out, "Last lap, everybody finish hard! Let�s go!" I did finish hard, and when I was done, slapping hands with all of the other seniors who were finished, I felt like life couldn�t get much better. I had scored another fourth place and a time of 12:32.

I had tears in my eyes that day as I ate a banana on my green army blanket, watching the last few heats of the 1600 meter relay finish up. I was so proud of myself. I remembered starting track and field six years earlier as a skinny little 400 meter runner in seventh grade. Here I was now, a big bad mile runner with more medals than I knew what to do with.

I remember that day one of the most touching things of all was walking up the bleachers and seeing all of the little girls that looked at me like I was some kind of superhero. I hope that some of them go on to be distance runners themselves. I myself remember being a little girl watching all of the big athletes running around and wishing I could be like them. It is in the children that the biggest and most important impression is made.

On the bus home my team held its own informal medal ceremony. I got huge cheers for my medals and places. I remember holding them as the light from the setting sun shone off of their gleaming corners. I must have stared at those medals for a good ten minutes. It was a dream come true for me, and for my whole life I will never forget the sweat, blood, tears, and joy that came with it all. Nothing compares to that moment. It was the ultimate runners high.

Though I do realize that now there is no going back. Perhaps I will join a collegiate track club when I go home. This summer I am planning on running a marathon. I�m already training. You see, the dream, the drive, it never goes away, it only alters itself. The stories you just read are all true, and these days they only serve to fuel my reminiscing, and perhaps to inspire others.

Maybe that�s what this is all about. The dreams of others. We all have idols in our minds that we look up to. I still like to imagine that I am an idol in the mind of children, but I also know that I am an idol to myself. That vision of me in my uniform streaking down the track will never leave me. I�m so proud to call myself a runner, to have this history and this future.

And there I go, I�m off again, the sun beating down on my face and sweat streaking down my neck, racing down this track called life. Whether I have "Negaunee Miners" written across my chest or not, I�ll never be finished.