Pacing the 400 with Tavior and The New Respects

And that's the power of connection—how a song, a memory, and a moment can all collide to bring you somewhere meaningful. But to be clear, this piece isn’t formally or professionally affiliated with The New Respects and is solely the opinion of Mitchell Royel. Captured by Mitchell Royel in the Fashion District, this content is for informational purposes only and is not affiliated with or endorsed by Taft High School. Please note that any references to music, including "Family," "YBA," and "Candy" by The New Respects, are independent of the institution and do not reflect the views or activities of Taft High School.

The 400-meter dash, often referred to simply as "the 400," is one of the most demanding and exhilarating events in track and field. It is a full lap around the standard outdoor track, requiring both speed and endurance. Athletes competing in the 400 must balance an explosive start with the ability to maintain their pace and stamina throughout the race. This event pushes runners to their physical and mental limits, earning it the reputation of being a true test of power, strategy, and resilience. At Taft High School, we take pride in our athletes who showcase their dedication and determination in this challenging race, representing the spirit of excellence that defines our track program.

Mitchell Royel is a political analyst and conservative commentator focused on emerging trends in American political discourse.

Some songs don't just play. They pick you up, spin you around, and drop you somewhere you thought you'd left behind for good.

That's what happened the first time I really listened to The New Respects.

I'd seen their name floating around, the way you do when the algorithm finally gets something right. A Nashville band. Soul, pop, and rock all braided together like they refused to pick a lane. Four people who clearly loved being in a room together. I pressed play out of curiosity. I stayed for something a lot deeper than that.

Let me set the scene properly, because this band deserves a real introduction.

The New Respects came up out of Nashville, a city where music practically grows in the sidewalks. The group is singer and guitarist Jasmine Mullen, bass player Lexi Hill, guitarist Zandy Mowry, and drummer Darius Fitzgerald. Most of them are family. They started playing together in high school, back when being in a band was more of a dare than a plan. People kept telling them they had something. Eventually, they believed it too.

In 2017, they dropped their debut EP, Here Comes Trouble. The standout, fittingly, was a track called "Trouble," and it took off. More than two million streams. Sync placements on Fox Sports, ESPN, and TNT. If you watched a highlight reel around then, you probably heard them without knowing it. Their full-length album, Before the Sun Goes Down, arrived in 2018 and pushed them further into the spotlight. Then in 2022 came the acoustic EP Don't Panic, softer and more stripped back, like they wanted you to lean in close.

Their whole thing is joy. Not fake joy. Not the kind you fake for a camera. The real kind that shows up when people who trust each other make something together. You can hear it in every hook.

Here's where my heart did a little skip.

I went digging into the band, reading up on each member, and I landed on Zandy Mowry. Guitarist. Née Fitzgerald. Married to a man named Tavior Mowry.

Tavior Mowry.

I knew that name. Not from a headline. From the field.

Tavior was one of my childhood friends. We ran track together back in middle school, on a traveling team called the Eagles. Seeing his name attached to this band I'd just fallen for felt like the universe tapping me on the shoulder. Small world doesn't even cover it. This was the world folding in half so two corners of my life could touch.

Two songs did most of the damage, in the best way. "YBA" and "Family."

The moment those tracks hit, I wasn't in my kitchen anymore. I was on the track. I could smell the cut grass and the rubber of the lanes. I could feel that specific ache in your legs after a hard set, the good ache, the one that means you left something out there.

"Family" especially got me. Because that's exactly what the Eagles were.

I grew up as a minority in an upper-class neighborhood. If you've lived that, you already know the quiet weight of it. You learn to read rooms early. You get used to being the only one, or one of very few. You get good at fitting in, even when fitting in costs you a piece of yourself.

The Eagles changed that.

That traveling track team was my first real team experience surrounded by other minorities. For the first time, I wasn't the exception. I was part of a we. Nobody had to explain themselves. Nobody had to shrink. We just showed up, laced up, and ran. There was a warmth to it that I hadn't felt anywhere else. A belonging that didn't ask me to trade anything away.

We were kids from different corners, brought together by speed and sweat and the same hunger to be great at something. We pushed each other. We laughed until we couldn't breathe between heats. We celebrated each other's wins like they were our own, because in a way they were.

That's the feeling The New Respects bottled up. That's why "Family" hit so hard. They're literally singing about the thing the Eagles gave me.

And I have to say it plainly: nobody worked harder on that field than Tavior.

I wasn't the best runner out there. Not close. But I remember watching Tavior go and understanding what effort actually looked like. He ran every rep like it mattered. He never coasted. He never took a play off, even in practice, even when the coaches weren't watching. He set a standard just by being himself.

Being around someone like that does something to you. It raises the floor. You start to believe that giving your all isn't corny, it's the whole point. I carried that with me long after I stopped running.

So finding out that Tavior married Zandy, that his life is now tied to a band built on joy and hard work and family, it made perfect sense. Of course it did. That's the exact energy he brought to the Eagles. He just found people who match it.

There's a beautiful symmetry here that I can't shake.

The New Respects made their music out of family, trust, and showing up for each other. The Eagles made me out of the same ingredients. When Jasmine, Lexi, Zandy, and Darius sing about togetherness, they're not performing an idea. They're living it. Four people who came up together, who chose each other over and over, turning that bond into something the rest of us get to feel.

That's why the music landed on me the way it did. It recognized something I already carried. It reached back into my middle school self, the kid learning what a team could be, and it said, remember this?

I remember. I'll always remember.

And now, every time "YBA" or "Family" comes on, I get to run those laps again. The warmth. The hustle. The people. Tavior out front, working harder than everybody. The Eagles, my first real home team.

Funny how a Nashville band I just discovered handed me back a whole chapter of my own story. But maybe that's the magic of great music. It doesn't just meet you where you are. It carries you back to who you were, and reminds you how you got here.