The Runner

A sport has astronomical interest when its records are being assaulted. Field and track has minimal interest unless a record setter is shot putting, breaking long or high jump records, or pole vaulting into the stratosphere. Most small high schools in rural Tennessee had a track and field day in the spring when their sister schools assemble and compete against each other. In the Roger Bannister days, one small school didn’t compete except on this one special day, when the other three schools in the county brought over a school bus load of kids and did battle. None of the ‘athletes’ had necessarily prepared over the months for the events. When the relay competition was announced, the coach picked three basketball players and a baseball pitcher he deemed good athletes and ready to compete and explained what they’d do. They were a disaster. One overgrown kid tried to throw the shot like throwing a baseball and probably injured himself permanently.
When the one mile run was announced, three schools placed runners at the start line, while the coach/PE instructor/health teacher, looked around for a likely competitor, after all the mile is a long, tiring run. He finally appealed loudly, “Who wants to run a mile?” A young, black headed boy, not more than fourteen years old and wearing bibbed overalls, stepped up and asked meekly, “Can I try coach?”
Seeing no other volunteers, the coach nodded, and asked, “What’s your name boy?”
“Matthew, sir.”
“Pace yourself, Matthew, and watch that they don’t step on you. It’s four laps around the track. If you totally give out just stop and we won’t worry about it.”
As if on cue, the starter called out, “On your mark. Get set.”
Matthew flinched when the starter gun discharged and allowed the other three runners to get a six step lead at the onset; however, in another six steps Matthew had passed the three and was moving away. By the second turn, Matthew had outdistanced the others by a hundred yards. The students who were standing around awaiting the hotdogs and free sodas at lunch, suddenly became interested as a buzz went through the usually inattentive spectators. Matthew was smiling as he passed the starter’s box and the students began to chant Matt-heuw, Matt-heuw-Matt-heuw.
The coaches discussed among themselves, “He can’t hold out like that. He’ll fade after a couple of laps.”
When the runners came by their coaches, all were together, but Matthew was on his last lap, while the others had two laps to go. It was then that someone noticed Matthew’s feet. He was barefoot, running like a deer on the cinder track, not winded, and having a ball. The other three runners put on a kick to end the race but were no match for Matthew who ran even faster as they all kicked.
During the next week, the coach checked on Matthew. He trained, but not like runners at big schools. His training was a two mile sprint for the school bus each morning after milking and doing farm chore. His sprint was repeated in the evening when he returned home. Coach wanted him to participate in the state meets and asked permission from Matthew’s parents who were excited at the opportunity. Coach and Matthew rode the Greyhound over to the capitol and stayed in the hotel preceding the meet. Matthew was thrilled by the new pair of black and white track shoes presented him the night before the race.
“Matthew, I can’t give you any advice about the race. You seem to know more about running than I could teach you. Have fun!”
The starter gun didn’t excite Matthew this time. He’d heard that before but was soon boxed in by four of the slower runner who’d no doubt heard about his running. He wasn’t used to their tactics, but endured it for a moment before halting abruptly allowing the others to run by him. He jumped to the outside of the track where any blocking would be obvious and ran by the blockers before reeling in the leading pack. Again, he was hindered by the five in the leading pack. They’d set a good pace, but couldn’t maintain it and keep an eye on Matthew at the same time. He moved to the outside, passed them and never looked back. The race was over. His time was four minutes and some seconds. The time wasn’t important. He was a winner, got a scholarship for college, and probably still has the new black and white track shoes which he felt too fine to mess up running.