On Saturday, I was the finish line boy. That meant roasting my buns on the hot track while hearing a few tales from Frakes.
It also meant feeling stuck – both physically and creatively. For most of the races, I felt like I was there for documentation, proof that athletes ran and crossed the line. I was more than happy to be there for the team effort. But that didn’t mean I felt I was doing that great a job.
Sadly, the best crash – a five person train wreck in the 800m – happened on the other side of the track, part of the “no fly zone” for photographers.
Here’s what I saw while sitting on my ass all day.