The 2020 Senior Perspectives is the 15th in a series of annual collections. Senior captains and representatives of teams at Harvard have been invited to contribute viewpoints based on personal experience from both their senior seasons and full varsity careers at Harvard.

Martha Kebeh
Hometown: Worcester, Mass. 
Concentration: Molecular and Cellular Biology 

Many people, even if unable to name more than three of its events, would say that track and field is not a team sport. To some degree, they're right; it certainly doesn't have to be one. Unless you're running in a relay, the only person who can achieve whatever goal you've set up for yourself on the day you step into the ring, up to the starting line, or onto the runway is yourself. The beat of silence after the official calls your name, prompting you to step forward, is a lonely moment, indeed. But it's not a long one, not when you're part of a program that combines the virtues of what can be an individual sport with the support and resources that come with being part of a team. Through my time with Harvard Track and Field, I've experienced countless instances of that moment of silence being shattered. As I apply chalk to my implement during a competition, or when I, myself, start cheering as I watch a teammate lean back in preparation for another approach. In these moments, with teammates and coaches calling upon you, trying their utmost to speak your success into existence, it's hard to think of track and field as an individual sport, and on days like HEPS (the Ivy League's track and field championship meet), it's nearly impossible.
 
It's funny to think how little consideration I gave to team dynamics when I decided to walk on to the team during my first semester at Harvard. Maybe my limited experiences with my high school's track and field team had left me unaware of what a critical role my teammates would play in how I experienced being a part of the program, or maybe I just wasn't worried about how my relationships with teammates would form, so I didn't think about it. I was just excited for a chance to extend my athletic career and improve my performances. Three years later, I realize that I found much more than I had been looking for.
 
This sport is unique because of the individual nature of its competitions; this much is true. I have teammates who probably still have no idea how I train, and vice versa, and teammates whom I've never competed alongside. But we've shared a space that, to us, represents one thing that we consistently look to achieve, regardless of event group, year, or injury status: progress. In the time it takes to get from point A to point B, we watch one another travel in many directions, some of them counterintuitive.
 
While we don't usually share a path from start to finish, we may, here and there, travel some distance together, and retain the privilege of witnessing one another's growth and recovery from the inevitable setbacks we endure, the narrow losses and missed opportunities, Even, and maybe especially, when you don't fully understand the process of another's journey, being in its presence is a humbling and valuable experience that I credit with serving as the foundation of the relationship between my teammates and me. At a place like Harvard, where stumbles and losses are so quickly glossed over or concealed, not having the option to do so is actually quite freeing. On the track, there's no hiding. Instead, I've had to embrace and learn from both failures and successes with the support of my teammates and coaches, and I've become a better person for it. Thank you, Harvard Track and Field and Harvard Athletics, for what you've brought to my Harvard journey.