which threw him totally off his stride. You can get away with using
your outside arm like that in the backstretch, since the officials
are all on the other side of the track.
It took him a couple of steps to get his balance back, which put
him a yard behind me. I knew those spikes would be clawing my leg
next time he went by, and out of some self-preservation reflex,
suddenly I was sprinting. I mean a second ago, I could barely keep
running, and now I’ve started a sprint 300 yards away from the
finish. I sure wasn’t thinking of any strategy. I guess I just didn’t
want any more spikes in my leg, or something.
I do remember thinking I’d just keep going as long as I could. I
don’t know what I thought would happen after that. Maybe I’d cramp up
or something, so I could sort of quit with honor. I’m not sure,
exactly. And I remember hearing that angry kid pounding behind me,
trying to catch up. At least I had the satisfaction of ruining his
finishing sprint by making him start too early.
I don’t remember much about that last 300 yards. Pain. I remember
a lot of pain, and later people told me I was wobbling from side to
side, sort of staggering up the finish stretch. I guess they were
hollering and stuff, but I didn’t know it. I didn’t even know what
place I’d come in until someone told me later. One of my friends told
me that my mouth was gaping open and I was sort of spraying saliva
all over myself. Probably not a pretty sight. I suppose it was a good
thing they weren’t giving style points in that race.
I didn’t care if the girls were cheering, or my dad was proud of
me, or if I was running on my heels. I didn’t care if I staggered and
wobbled, or even if I won. You know, for a minute there, I just
didn’t care about anybody or what they thought about me. I just kept
running really hard and fast after I should have quit. I know you
guys are about to bust a gut to ask me, “How did I feel?” and all
that psychobabble crap. I felt like puking, OK? That’s about all I
felt.
If this was a movie or something, I’d probably tell you how I won
the race. It was pretty close actually. I kept going those 300 yards
finished that race in 4:38, almost 15 seconds faster than I’d ever
run before, or would ever run again. I came in second, one-tenth of a
second behind the winner, one-tenth ahead of the third place guy.
Or maybe I’d tell you how I found my true spirit that day and went
on to be some famous track guy. Oh, I made my trip to the regionals,
where I finished dead last. I never ran in competition again after
that. My senior year, I just couldn’t get really interested in it.
And I didn’t find some inner peace that day and become a popular,
self confident type guy. I guess we all know that didn’t happen.
Now that I’m talking about it like this, it seems that what
happened that day wasn’t very important. Kind of like the rest of my
life, I guess. I went around in circles for a while, trying to look
good and busting my ass just to get back where I started. After that
I laid on the ground and hurt. Oh, yeah, and I puked, too. Probably
some people were a little interested and entertained for a while, but
it didn’t change anybody’s world or anything.
Except maybe mine, a little bit. Sometimes I see these people that
seem to have everything. You know, those smart, good looking, rich
guys with the arm candy wives. Sometimes I get real jealous of those
guys with their perfect lives. Most of the time, though, I think,
“Hey, I was perfect, once, for a little while. But it took an
incredible amount of effort, it really didn’t matter, and I made
myself sick doing it.”