The Long Dash

He was surprised to see his name on the list to run the 300 yard dash that day.  He had joined the track team to throw the discus.  His uncle had won gold medals, and the photos of the muscular track star circling with the discus in his palm inspired him.  The other discus throwers on his team were big thick boys ill-suited for running fast.  His thin frame probably provoked his coach to wonder how fast he was. Now with no training or coaching he was going to run a long “300 yard dash”.

 He knew he was not fast, but when they lined up and the gun went off, he stayed right with the lead runner. He knew nothing about pacing and was delighted to find himself close to the lead about halfway into the race. His lungs began to tighten as they rounded the curve.  Either the leader was getting faster or he was getting slower as the gap between them rapidly increased allowing other runners into that space. 

 When they hit the straightaway about 80 yards from the finish, he felt a strong headwind smack him in the chest.  Suddenly his lungs were screaming, and his leg, arm, and chest muscles tightened against the thick air pushing him back.  Each step got heavier and harder to make until the leg muscles locked up and tripped him onto the track. His momentum pushed him into a slide through the black cinders.

 At first he was confused how his own body had tripped him.  He felt no pain even though his knees were raw and bloody, but he did feel a wall of embarrassment crashing toward him.  He stood up to find the race was over with people crowding into the race lanes.  He stepped toward the finish line and was relieved to find his paralyzed legs working again.  He walked four steps, then jogged a few more steps, and limped the last twenty yards to the finish line.  No one noticed.

 He never threw the discus very far, but he knew he had run one complete 300 yard dash