The Warren Invite: when you forget your camera battery

Taken at the Warren Invite in 2008.

Moments can be captured, but as closed doors open new ones, this memory is different. Not frozen like a still shot, the Warren Invite replays in my mind, warm by the after-effect of sweaty post-race hugs.

SEPT 19 09-- Rumbling down the road, our bus makes its way from Skokie to Gurnee. Today's the race we've all been waiting for: The Warren Invite.

Distance: 3 miles for all levels--frosh/soph, varsity, & junior varsity.

Features: Run time along a path in a beautiful cool forest preserve, concessions, clean bathrooms, & oh, almost forgot to mention, a big hill.

Wiping the slight drool from the side of my mouth, I lift my head from Diana's shoulder. Back straight against the seat, her eyes are closed. "Hey Diana, you can lean on my shoulder too." Readjusting her position, soon Diana's head and mine lightly bump each other left to right with hers sandwiched between my shoulder and head. The bus pulls into Warren High School's parking lot and already a wave of buses are there. I nudge Paula awake by tapping her head in the seat front of us.

Making camp on a grassy spot speckled with morning dew, the team lays out a blue tarp. "Laaadies, we're enforcing the NO-SHOES-ON-TARP rule. So leave your bags here, but take your shoes OFF!" demands the captains. All the girls plop their belongings in the center and gingerly slip out of their grass-stained shoes.

"FRESHMAN & SOPHOMORE GIRLSS, get ready to warm up!" Diana and Paula stand. Although I wouldn't be able to run with them, for once, I'd have the chance to capture the two running.

Excited by all the photo opportunities, I cautiously remove my camera from my bag, remove the cap, turn the switch on, and view Diana planting herself in a shot of perfection without even realizing it. I click the little black button... no response. The fantastic feel of the shot and accompanying shutter sound are amiss.

Frantic, I glare at the 3 inch monitor in hope of seeing a screen of gray filled with numbers and letters of photographic information-- but no, a blank black rectangle stares back and laughs at me. A dark revelation hits. I swiftly flip over the camera body and open the battery hatch: Empty, like my hopes of taking hundreds of pictures of my teammates running.

Disenchanted, I change my plans and head toward the starting line with a different light bulb floating over my head.

BANG! The race begins. The first loop's a breezy mile, but the second and third miles are a bit trickier. Positioning myself along the base of the hill, I keep an eye out for Diana or Paula. Girls of all different colored uniforms spurt forward from the forest path. Wearing black and white with a spot of red, Diana emerges.

"Go Diana!" She approaches the hill. A couple weeks ago, we ran at a meet loaded with some of the most vicious hills. Unprepared at the time, we vowed to overcome the next time. Diana meets the hill. "Just like practice! RUNNN!" As the race progresses, phrases spew out of my mouth anxious to see action. "STAAY STRONGG!" "You CAN DO THIS!" "Stick TOGETHER!" "NICE JOB!!" I had become one of those loud obnoxious coaches.

After running two and a half miles, Paula has one more hill climb to go. She walks. You simply cannot walk in a race. I scream. She turns. Paula, run! I scream, again. Finally, Paula runs and conquers the hill. I think for her: Veni, vidi, vici.

Girls begin to finish. Quickly, I scurry to the finish line. If I don't see Diana run in, at least I'll catch her when she's finish. Approaching the lane where runners make their last strides, by some imaginable coincidence, I see Diana running her last 300 meters.

"DIIANNAA, DIIIIAAANNNAAAAA, RUNNN!" I sound like a fire ambulance, but by the last stream of Diana’s, my voice resembles an old lady screaming for her life as if she were mauled by a wild cougar. But, I'm not an old lady screaming for her life or even a desperate photographer leaning in for the ideal shot. I'm a cross country runner. A cross country runner screaming and cheering until her voice runs dry for her teammates’ races. It doesn’t matter if I’m armed with a camera or not. Diana and Paula finish and our trio collapses into a sweaty post-race hug.