Twenty-Five Laps

                           

                                                                 

    The starter’s pistol cracks through the Gerhard Fieldhouse without warning, sharp enough to make anyone flinch if they aren’t paying attention. The navy-blue track at Bucknell shines under bright fluorescent lights, its orange accent is almost electric against the bland steel building with industrial white walls and ceilings. Bundled up parents in winter coats lean over the railing with phones raised, while athletes in shorts and singlets bounce lightly at the line, shaking out their arms and legs as if they aren’t standing in the same building as the bundled parents with sweeping cold winds that enter with opened doors. In the middle of all the chaos stands Olivia Magagna, preparing for twenty-five laps that carry more than just distance. For her, the 5,000 meters is never just a race it’s a test of composure, expectation, and everything that comes with it.

    In the middle of the infield, Olivia Magagna reclines onto her backpack sitting on the floor looking relaxed. Her dirty blonde braid hanging down her back, the neon and orange spikes flashing against the dark track. The white Bloom jersey makes her easy to pick out among the sea of orange Bucknell uniforms. She smiles and talks with teammates before the race waiting for her time to come, but once warmups begin, her expression shifts. Her face tightens, not nervous exactly, but focused. All business. The 5,000 meters, a grueling twenty-five lap trip around the gym. For Olivia, running isn’t just a sport but a family tradition. Her whole family runs. Her dad was a professional triathlete. Split times, pacing strategies, and long-distance discipline wasn’t learned from YouTube videos, they were dinner table conversations. When asked where the pressure comes from before races, she doesn’t hesitate. “From everyone,” she says. “My coaches, my parents, my teammates, me.” The pressure doesn’t fade during warmups. “It lasts until the gun goes off.” And so, it begins.

    She takes the lead early, part of the plan, though she admits later it might not have been the smartest one. By lap five, she already looks controlled, shoulders relaxed. Her stride remains fluid and identical each time her spikes strike the track. The sound of spikes slapping the surface of the track echoes through the hollow room. Her braid swings side to side in perfect sync with her cadence. She doesn’t look at the crowd, she doesn’t look at the other runners, but she runs her own race. “My goal was to win it,” she notes. “And just see where my fitness was at. It was the first race.” Season openers are strange. They aren’t championships or finals. They’re feedback. Still, tradition doesn’t soften expectations. By the middle of the race, the structure formed by the runners begins to fracture. One runner stays within striking distance, but the gap between each and every athlete grows steadily. Around lap fifteen, shoulders on other competitors begin to tighten. Heads start to bob and breathing grows heavier and more visible. Olivia’s form barely changes. But internally, she knows something is off. “I felt like I went out too fast,” she admits. “But I just tried to go with it.” Fatigue doesn’t arrive all at once. Sometimes two-thirds through. Sometimes three-fourths. It’s unpredictable. But the one thing about the race is that it always demands honesty. The final stretch is always louder than the rest. Teammates start to yell, parents shout cliches “GO” “Finish Strong!”. She can hear her dad’s voice among them, yelling out splits and remains focused. The scoreboard flickers, the announcer’s voice echoes overhead, and his voice starts to rise in intensity, metal bleachers creak as spectators lean forward and stand up looking on with anticipation. With four laps to go, it’s time to push. On the last lap, her face shows effort for the first time. Her stride is tall, still composed, but the ease is gone. “I knew I wasn’t going to hit the time I wanted,” Olivia stated. “So, it became about finishing strong and learning from it.” She crosses the line and immediately looks at the clock. Then comes the first thought. “Probably disappointment.” She bends forward briefly, hands on her knees, then straightens and places her hands on her hips. She doesn’t search for celebration. She doesn’t look for anyone right away. “I didn’t really want to talk to my dad or my coach,” she reluctantly admits. “I already knew I didn’t perform the way I wanted to. So, I was just kind of like, let’s move on.” For someone raised in a family of endurance athletes, disappointment isn’t dramatic. It’s instructional. Running in the Magagna family, isn’t about one race. It’s about discipline. It’s about setting a goal and finishing it, even when it doesn’t unfold perfectly. “I’ve learned that if I set a goal, I’m going to complete that goal,” “I’m really disciplined.” The 5K is the longest race she runs right now. That’s part of why she loves it. “It gives you time to think,” she explains. “You can calm down. You can think about your strategy. “Twenty-five laps give you space to feel confident. It gives you space to misjudge pace, it gives you space to respond."

     As the meet winds down, trash piles near the concession stand and the awards table sits neatly arranged. The infield slowly clears as teams gather their duffel bags, the cold air slips in again when the doors open. Olivia blends back in with her teammates, she just becomes another athlete cooling down, her braid still swinging as she jogs easy laps. The season opener didn’t deliver the time she wanted, but tradition doesn’t end with one imperfect performance. It continues in the early morning oatmeal, the water bottles, the weeklong mental preparation, coaching, and teammates unwavering friendship and support. Twenty-five laps isn’t just a race. For Olivia, it’s part of something that started long before Bucknell’s navy blue track and will continue long after the final gun goes off.