I was the happiest guy to ever finish seventh place.
Fifty yards ahead of me, with about 100 yards to go, was Mike Devlin, the fastest guy on the 1983 Howell Township Cross-Country team. My fiery coach at Point Boro High, his face beet-red and his soiled eyes leering at me, pointed at Mike's backside and fired off an order.
"Go get him!" he yelled. "Beat him, and we get the shut-out."
I did.
When Mr. Seyfried barked, you bowed. When he wanted speed, you spun.
Soon, the distance was 40 yards. Then 20, and 10. With just 20 feet to go, I lunged past Mike, head and all, and stretched out a split-second advantage for myself. I probably saw too many of those photos of Jesse Owens from the 1936 Olympics, thinking I could lunge, run and win, just like Jesse. It worked.
I was always hoping I could win something. Anything. Before then, I didn't win much. I didn't get the girls. I got picked last in kickball. I got cut from the baseball team. I got cut from the basketball team.
That day, on Oct. 18, 1983, in Howell, I did. Yeah, it was seventh place. Yeah, I didn't really win. But it was a triumph, and it was my first real one. Whenever I'm tested, I think back to that day, at Howell Township High School, when a little extra effort went so far.
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2 comments:
Love the column, Tom.Indulge me for a minute. My 5-year-old grandson Michael had been practicing for weeks to compete in a (mini) motorcycle race. During the race, two little boys got hurt... he stopped and helped them get back up. He came in dead-last. Lost the race, but in my mind, he was first-class.
Your way of expressing thoughts through words is excellent. Great blog, enjoyed reading it. Keep up the good work! Greetings.
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