Ode to Bell Laps
What makes the final lap so primal, so human, so unforgettable?
Ringing cavalcade of destiny!
See the venue. Ovular tartan. Churning stadium. Athletes crossing—no, flying—into the final circuit of climatic conclusion. All footstrike and thunder as the crowdroar chorus lilts upward. There they go, riding a wave of finish-line ecstasy. This is it: the final phase where chips are down, stones are checked, mettle tested.
It’s the bell lap, baby!
There’s nothing quite like the last lap of a race. That wind-up acceleration, that stretching uncertainty of who’ll win. The sprint into flat-out nothingness as paroxysms of anticipation seethe through the crowd; a collective ‘This is it!’
Watch the competitors pour it on. Watch them put everything on the table. Watch them damn the torpedos and go full sped ahead. Watch risk-reward calculus thrown overboard. So frantic, so human—embodied and snarling and beautiful and real. My God, is there anything better?
Take any sport—running, riding, swimming, driving—create a circuit, fix the number of perambulations (4, 10, 65, whatever), and drama will ensue on the last lap.
Logically, it shouldn’t be this way: races should space out evenly based on ability. But that’s not how our brains work; that’s not how our souls work. We’re not logic machines. We’re social, reflexive. We key off each other, modulate based on the labor around us. We coast, vibe, improv together. It’s our very humanity that makes the last lap where things so often get decided.
Bell laps are fun to watch. And downright thrilling to experience.
Despite my raging mediocrity, over the years I’ve found myself near the front of a few track races going into the last lap.
Rushing past the clanging bellscape, I was usually gassed but for a primal fight-flight reflex that hooked the lungs for one last push. If I was in a pack of runners jockeying to the finish, I’d feel the rubberband of group effort start to stretch as folks made final bids. The sprint wound up like a dance. I’d wait, wait, wait, mind bloodshot with tension, waiting for that perfect second to surge.
Or maybe I was alone, crossing into the bell lap amid the vacuum of solo effort. Then it was a matter of fending off everyone behind me—a terrified sprint, ears pinned animal-like, sensing for impending steps from behind. Whoever came up with the idea of signaling the end of a track race with a bell should win a cosmic prize awarded by John Donne in heaven. The bell tolls for thee, motherfuckers.1
Step into a race. You are not an island, nor a clod washed away at sea. Your speed doesn’t matter, whether you’re first or last. You are continental. Cross that final lap line and feel the anticipatory catch in your throat. A flicker of primal terror shivers up your neck, a pulse of oh-my-god-it’s-here electricity. Exhilaration embraces exhaustion in a concluding danse macabre.
Feel the urging, urging. Just a few more yards, just a bit more. And a bit more. One goes deep into oneself, intestine. Cellular mitochondria desperately searching for something to burn into forward thrust. You reach the crazed straight of homestretch and fling yourself empty across those final meters of madness.
We need this, these bell-lap experiences.
Moments of pure climax, existential ejaculation. Animal wails against the void. It’s pre-modern, pre-human perhaps. We’re sacrificing our normality, if just for a moment, laying down our mundane burdens upon the beautiful altar of self-overcoming.
It is the final lap and it is a rite of spring.
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Notable notes
Bells have served various functions throughout history, from signaling time and marking significant events to calling communities to worship or alerting them to danger. In medieval Europe, church bells regulated daily life, a ringing cadence that punctuated the rituals of the everyday. They were also symbolic, marking celebrations, mourning, or solemn remembrance. Small wonder such ringing sacrality bled over into modern racing.
Good post. :) Bell lap is one of the things you can hear in your head, right?. And it is one of those things that even if your not paying attention you can still hear. Good post. :)
You transported me into the bell lap I never ran…. Strong work!