I fancied myself a
track star during my high school years. But I had neither the genetic makeup
nor the will power to excel in that department.
Granted, I ran the
440 yard dash, but dashing was a poor verb for what I managed to do. But
I thought myself fortunate to never finish last; (next to the last, but never
last).
Jack C. was a
whole ‘nother story. Characterizing him as fast would have been an gross
understatement. He was “a god” on the asphalt circle. Where I struggled to break
the 60 second mark, Jack jogged it in less time.
I remember one
track meet in particular, not for the location since I have no idea these forty
years hence where it was held. But it was one of the more momentous days in my
life; (or more precisely in Jack’s life).
Our track hero was
in the lead as he rounded the last curve, and he seemed oblivious to every
other runner. His eyes were “glued” to the finish line; his mouth curled into a
painful grimace.
It had rained that
day and there was an unusual amount of water on the track. Suddenly the
unthinkable occurred. Jack slipped five yards from the finish line, and began
to hydroplane… on his stomach and chest. And slid in first place!
Apparently he’d been far enough ahead of the other runners that falling down in
a straight line was good enough for a win.
(No one said he had
to cross the finish line on his feet)!
By William McDonald, PhD. Excerpt from "Writings"
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