On Monday, May 1, 2017, on a warm, yellow spring day, I warmed up for my track meet here at Ayersville. At this point in the year, I earned first in every single meet in the shot put event because I threw pretty well. I stretched out before a meet that we had later that day. Vaughn Rey, Hunter, DJ, Tristan, and I all took turns warming up. We would all rotate turns in the silver shot put ring to warm up. 

Tristan launched, and it flew about 30 ft and rolled to the gritty, sandy 50 ft line. Waiting to throw next, I asked him, “Hey, TLew, am I good to throw?” He told me, “Yes.” All I can imagine is that he thought that 50 ft was too far out for me to chuck it –I had never thrown that far before– because as I wound up, he disappeared from my vision and jogged into the sector. I watched the shot glide slowly through the air as it unfortunately connected with the upper right part of his forehead on his hairline. The shot floated high up into the sky and fell hard as it hit his skull. CRACK. It was as loud as a watermelon being slammed onto concrete. From there, everybody ran over to him. Well, everybody except me. I couldn’t move a muscle. Every single inch of my body was glued into the concrete throwing circle. 

I just stood there in disbelief. Pushing me, Vaughn snapped me out of my trance and yelled, “You ruined his life! You basically killed him! You’re an awful, awful person!” Then, he stormed off. I really felt like I was a terrible person. I moped over to Tristan. The crimson blood covered the cracked shot and the ground, and he laid there squirming next to it. As I moved closer, I could hear him swearing at the people around him. Along with that, he was making some jokes. He was coherent, and that caused me to feel better. However, I still felt like I had crushed this poor kid’s life. His dad comforted me and explained, “It’s not your fault… that was on him.” However, the taste of complete defeat and helplessness is one that I will never forget. After the ambulance took him off, I still had to throw. Though time had been standing still, I knew I still needed to throw far.  However, I threw for the sixth place spot and came nowhere near my PR. 

I went home that night, and I bawled myself to sleep, as I did for the next week. “Accept it,” my dad pleaded, “and move on.” It seemed as if every day was in black and white. Everytime I would go anywhere near that dark shot put sector, I started to tear up and cry. I eventually stopped crying, but I still felt like an awful human being. I was as sad as a kid with a dead puppy. Accident or not, I altered his entire life. I ruined his week and I felt like I was dead inside. I was a rock, and all I wanted to do was sink. I started to meet with the guidance counselor who kept me updated on Tristan’s status. He told me, “Tristan is making his recovery. He should be back fairly soon.” 

When I finally talked to Tristan, I felt very relieved that he was okay and feeling better, but shortly after I heard that news, I never saw him again. I haven’t heard a single word about him either. I still feel like I have single handedly ruined his future. 

It’s hard to accept that something that I did changed so much of his life. I refuse to practice for track on May 1st every year because I believe that it is bad luck. To this day, thinking about what happened on May 1st haunts me. If I had the chance, I would go back and stop myself. I wouldn’t let myself throw that shot. I would save Tristan from so much pain that he wouldn’t have to live through. I would save myself so much self hatred that I didn’t have to feel. But, I can’t change it. It is what it is and nearly every single day, I struggle with accepting what happened on that Monday afternoon.