A good buddy sent me a link to Lucy Atkinson’s instagram. I read her thoughts on Woodward Park, and was impressed with the eloquence of this young runner and, if she so desires, writer. In viewing her Instagram, Lucy captures the moments that makes her running and her life hers. Quite thoughtful and it gives me many smiles about this new generation of runners and human beings.
Lucy Atkinson has been around running as long as she can remember. Her father is a coach, former Olympian, world class runner and keen observer of the sport.
This amazing piece on Woodward Park, in Fresno, California, is all Lucy Atkinson. She comments on the growth of her awareness in this park, and moving from the observer to the runner. Thanks, Lucy, for your wonderful writing. We hope to share some from you again.
Let’s just say that Woodward park has become a very familiar place to me. Iï¸ remember watching Harry Potter and the Princess Bride on the bus ride up and hanging out, talking, and blasting music on the bus ride home. Iï¸ remember the red and black hand knit beanies and the target bought gloves. Iï¸ remember how cold my hands would get when iï¸ would go on the playground and walking along the stream and how the sap from the trees would stick to my hands after hanging from branches and how the tops of the plastic fences would be above my head and the smiles on all of our faces when we would find out that we got in the podium for another time. Iï¸ remember the alternates watching me while my dad was off coaching and them giving me piggyback rides so that we could go cheer for our people. Iï¸ remember all my PV people racing and how excited we all were when they came out of the pen because we knew that they gave it all they had. Iï¸ remember sitting in those cold, blue plastic chairs trying to see over other peoples heads as my friends and the people that iï¸ looked up to accept their trophy for the umpteenth time. The park, course, meet set up, and booths have may have stayed the same but my role there has drastically changed. Now i’m the one racing. I’m the one standing on the starting line. The fences are no longer above my head. The alternates are now standing on the other side of the fence behind me and cheering me on as Iï¸ race. The course now feels a lot longer and the final 400 feels like forever. Everyone yelling is truly just a blur except for the people that know where it’s most needed. I’m now the one sitting in the pen struggling to take off shoe chips and walking around with stretched out shoe laces. I’m may not be wearing red and black but green and gold instead. â¤ï¸ðŸ’šðŸ’›ðŸƒðŸ½â€â™€ï¸