Shot From A Cannon

Shot from a Cannon

By Jay

Several weeks ago, my brother and I attended an event in the foothills of North Carolina that was hosting a 5k and 10k run.  He had been training for 5k’s and so chose to run the shorter race, and as for myself…  Well, I decided to try the 10k to see how my old legs would hold up.  I have always enjoyed running, more so for the way it makes me feel rather than the competitive side of the sport; however, I have had my fair share of races over the years.  I suppose I could lay some claim to have been rather fast in my distant past, and even as late as four years ago I could post fairly competitive times in my age group.  These days, it’s a hit or miss whether I can even finish a race!  Plagued with health problems, I feel fortunate that I can still get out there and engage in this activity that has given me an inordinate amount of pleasure since I was nine years old. 

On this particular cloudy Saturday morning as my brother and I lingered within the crowd of runners preparing to run our respective races, I couldn’t help but notice a very fit individual dressed in a bright yellow dry fit shirt doing sprints to limber up.  He leaped forward several times from the starting line as if he were shot from a cannon, surged maniacally forward for about forty meters, turned on his heels, and trotted back casually to his former position on the line.  I gazed rather muddily upon the rest of the runners, including my brother and myself and said, “This race is a foregone conclusion.”  They may as well just put the winners medal around his neck and be done with it.  Of course, there were probably only a handful of the runners present that day who perhaps entertained the notion that they could seriously win the race.  Most were running for the simple act of finishing or posting their PR for their respective distances.  As for my part, I had no idea why I was running except that my brother had suggested it.  I hadn’t been training 100%, though not for lack of trying.  One health related issue after another had hindered me from making any progress so that as I was standing there in the crowd, my goal was simply to finish the race in a respectable time without killing myself.  If I could still walk with a somewhat steady gait after I finished, I considered that would be a successful run!     

And so, the gun was fired and off we went, “yellow dry fit” surging forward as expected, my brother moving out at a quick 5k pace, and myself settling in at a comfortable, relaxed 10k stride.  I watched as my brother gradually increased his distance until finally, he disappeared around a bend in the road.  “Yellow dry fit’s” pace seemed supernatural to me  --  phantom-like.  He seemed to have disappeared entirely, as if he had been sucked into some vortex.   I knew I would see him again because the 5k and 10k course was a turn-around.  The cone for the 5k was roughly 1.5.5 miles up, and the cone for the 10k was about 3.1 miles up.  The first runners I saw were the 5k people.  A young guy in a black shirt was way out in front.  Then came a group of about three or four.  My brother was a couple of minutes behind them (He ended up finishing first in his age division.).  As I passed the 1.5.5 mark, I began to wonder when I would see “yellow dry fit”.  Yes, when I saw him…  Because there was no doubt in my mind that he would be leaps and bounds in front of his nearest competition.   

As I ran, I passed the time thinking, The sooner I see “yellow dry fit”, the closer I’ll be to the halfway point in this thing!  I love running, but it can be quite taxing on the body, especially when you are not really conditioned to run any faster than a jog!  Though I was not running fast (for me), my pride would not allow me to jog, so I was essentially running faster than I should have been.  And my pace had now become just a little bit more challenging than comfortable!

At last, I saw a yellow jersey in the distance!  He was charging towards me at a furious clip on the opposite side of the trail.  He pumped his fist with encouragement at one or two runners who were in front of me, and then it was my turn! 

We both pumped our fists and shouted simultaneously,  “GOOD JOB!”  or something to the effect.  And then “yellow dry fit” was gone.  POOF!  I was on my own again, breathing laboriously as my long, stiff legs plodded on and his were carried by the wind of Mercury on to certain victory. 

One day, however, “yellow dry fit” will be like me.  He will no longer have the spring and endurance that enabled him to cause me to question his mortality on this particular day.  His legs, once loose and supple, strong and fast, will eventually begin to crack and creak, and his aerobic capacity will have waned to the point where his once iron lungs will have rusted away.  He will perhaps, be in my situation, gazing with admiration at a form superior to his own, a future quicksilver who will pump his fist and cry out,  “GOOD JOB!”  And he will remember the time when he was the best and the fastest, and which caused at least two who were present that day to remark with awe as if he were shot from a cannon! 

The End