5K on a Special Day

Her hair.

My gaze is hard and long- awkward even. I don’t break it, well…I don’t want to, so I keep it there, exponentially increasing my creepiness factor. I’m not a fan of spooking strangers, even beautiful ones, but  the dirty-old-man in me quietly heckles, forcing me to bring my camera to my eye. I put my disturbing habit to work. It’s the one job where you can stare at whatever you want, and not freak people out.

-

I knew I was going to be at this event all day, so in the beginning I took pictures almost at random. The newspaper wanted general shots of people to compliment a write up of the charity run, but I always like to go a little further than my pay grade would allow. At an event like this, I could easily take a 1,000 pictures. The ratio for great pictures tends to be roughly 100:1, so it’s alway best to be safe. My relationship with SD cards grew since I picked up a camera.

I never usually get so weird on the job, but my first great shot was of her. She was in a group of her friends and the photo was taken before I realized the camera was in my hands. I walked away to get focused, then started taking random pictures. I got a few of the two music acts that were there (one setting up while the other packed) the vendors that came, and more of some goofballs  wasting energy before the race. I did get a sweet picture of a dude in a handstand, but mostly, runners confuse me.

I remember getting this assignment and groaned at the thought missing another Saturday. I looked for anyone to cover for me, but like the sucker I am, I decided take it. Even though decided isn’t the right word, it makes me feel better pretending that it was a choice.

I find a spot next to a few other cameramen from different papers- better papers, with bigger budgets, with bigger equipment. At first glance, I feel like I’m using my camera phone. I finally find the angle, and then start lining up my shot.

As the race prepared to start, she lined up in the front. She didn’t look like an elite runner, but she was already looking at the finish line. Determination was the factor here, and she was going to get a good time. I get a shot of her bouncing up after a jump squat. She floats in the photo, with beads of sweat sliding off her, as her arms stretched above her head. Her hair, in the beginning, was contained tightly in a ponytail.  The grin she maintained hits me harder than her laugh. I looked at that photo so long, I missed the start of the race.

When I looked up,  her stride was strong, and she pumped her arms with a will I never could muster. I clicked to find that ideal shot, and ended up capturing the building excitement as she took each step. The grin turned into an explosion of joy. The photos are tilted, and slowly return to a level position as her hands straighten, slicing the air in front of her. I want to say that my professionalism held my attention, but I stopped lying to myself a long time ago. She was special.

-

My god, her hair.

It bounces softly in the last leg of the race. There’s a lot of it, which makes a ponytail seem practical, but after the third mile, the focus is on the race. I’m glad she left it down though;  it gives the photos a feel of something vibrant, like an advertisement or commercial. I take a few decent shots, but I don’t like what I got. The shot has to be a little closer. She’s running against the clock, so I have to move quick.

She hits the finish line,  bracing for impact, like if she threw herself against a barricade. I wish I got a photo of this, but the image stains in my mind. My stare is back, and I normally have the sense to hide behind the camera, but this time, the scene is too powerful. I stare at her with my job clutched in my hand, at my side. She catches her breath, still standing straight, and it seems patriotic. She seizes her wild mane in both hands, and slowly guides her strands of hair back into a ponytail. Her hands remain rested on her hips, and she let out a sigh of relief.

She turns my way.

The panic slams the lense against my eye so hard, I feel it bruise immediately. I take five shots as I think how blue it would get. The photo preview becomes my mask as I refuse to look up. Scanning the image, I realize she is looking my general direction, which I was relieved to discover. I look up and she’s gone. There is no disappointment or guilt, only satisfaction from the art. I’m going to need to get more shots though. It will be awkward on Monday if I bring 500 pictures of one woman. I don’t need those kind of looks.

I toured the course of the race towards the end, not wanting to stray too far from the group. I got some before photos, so I’d need to get some after shots too. The scenery was nice. It was just enough of a residential area, with a little landscaping in the mix, to keep the course engaging (from a distance anyway.) Regardless, it was time to get some pictures of the exhausted finishers.

My expertise showed up, and I finally meet my quota of quality shots in the last bit of the event. My portfolio now consists of brilliant shots of families with their kids, couples being sweaty and cute, and people being thrilled to finish. The best shot is a picture of a huge group of runners cheering on the last participant. It was an older man,  who probably shouldn’t be doing a 5k, but as soon as he saw the crowd waiting for him, he started up his jog. The steps were labored, and his whole lower body shook with each step, but the closer he reached the finish line, the louder the crowd got. My chest turned into a cocktail of excitement and adrenaline. It took everything I had to not cheer with them.

The  money maker was a shot I took from behind him. He stood powerfully with is hands raised about his head, with the entire crowd exploding in front of him. I took a million shots of this moment, but I know the first one was the keeper.

The day is a success. A normally boring assignment turns inspiring, and for a whole second, I consider jogging regularly. The whole turnout seems to feel the same way.

“Excuse me.” Says a woman said behind me.

I turn, expecting the host of the event to badger me about sending her all the photos for the event site. Instead, it was her- the woman with the beautiful, black, high ponytail. It looks like she didn’t run at all. .

“Are you okay?” She asks. It puzzles me why she would ask that, until I finally close my mouth.

“Oh, yeah. I’m fine. What can I do for you?” I respond, knowing that I’d agree to anything she said.

“I saw you taking pictures before,” She asks. The creep in me panicked. “You’re with the new-press, right?”

“Yes.” I respond, quicker than I intend.

“Where will they be posted?” She asks. Her question makes perfect sense. She has to know how photogenic she is. I hand her one of the new-press cards.

“The website’s on the card. It usually takes a few days, but I’m probably gonna post them immediately.”

“Great. Thanks.” She says. She turns and walks away. I head to my car.

“Wait,” she said. “Is your number on this?”  I turn.

“No, just the link.”

“Can I have it?” The question doesn’t seem to be real until she asks it again, adding, “I mean, if you want to give it.”

I take out my sharpie and jot it down on the card. She smiles as she takes it.

“Nice meeting you.” She says, before a walking away.

“Nice meeting you too.”

I walk away as manly as I can. I take out my camera look at my collection.  A good day indeed, I think to myself.  Each shot of her I pause a little bit longer than the rest. My car engines roars, and I head onto the highway.

“Hell yeah!” I scream to myself in my car. “Thank you, thank you, beautiful, beautiful-”

I can’t finish my phase.

Her name! I slam my head against the headset.

The stupidity settles as I head back to my apartment. I take the comfort in the accomplishments of the last few hours, and relish to that fact that the day didn’t have to be perfect. I had fun getting work done, which meant more than anything else I could have done today. I had no real reason to fret though; I had a feeling I’d see her again.