“Whatever you do, just don’t take last”
A simple sentence spoken by my father soon dropped on my 12 year old ears like a giant anvil.
I turned my back and began to walk across the track to the field to do my warm-up.
“Man,” I thought. “I really need to get better at this, I can’t even touch my toes.” My fat little fingers were begging to grab my Nikes but fell short as they dangled even to my white tube socks that stretched halfway up my calves. I brushed my long dark hair out of my eyes and looked back across the track, to try and find my family. Standing on my tip toes, my 5 foot 2, 140 pound body finally caught the attention of my uncles and aunts off to the side, I gave them a wave, they smiled and waved back.
After a few short jogs, I was soon feeling ready to go… Then I heard my call, “Boys 800 Meter, report to starting position”
It was time…
Being who I am, I honestly thought that my short, fat, 12 yr old, un-athletic frame could actually compete with 9th graders. I had never ran 800 Meters before. And anyone who knows ANYTHING about running, will tell you the 800 Meter race is the worst race you can run, (Next to the 400 Meter)
So there I stood, in my lane with 30 other boys. My head was not even above most kids waists, and my blue uniform that read “TH BELL” on the front could have been considered a dress.
I paid no attention to the crowd as my ears silently stood still, waiting to hear the gun.
BAM
We all took off, and within the first 50 meters I found myself in the back of the pack. My arms began to swing frantically and my legs sped up to try and keep up with the long, lengthy strides of the much older competitors.
After the first lap, my lungs began to burn, my heart began to pound and my already slow pace began to slow even more; almost to a crawl.
By the time I had started around for my second lap, the first 10 people were just starting their last 100 meters in a dash for first place.
On the back 100 I found that I wasn’t alone, after all this pain and embarrassment of this event, I had somehow managed to pass a kid, who was my age, but hailed from an opposing school. But my speed was still rapidly decreasing, and his was staying the same… Slowly he began to catch me.
I could hear his footprints pounding behind me around the 200 meter mark. He was clipping my heels around the 150 mark and as soon as we turned the corner for the last 100 meters, I found him pulling up next to my right side. I couldn’t tell if he wasn’t breathing hard or not because my gasps for air were growing louder and louder. The only thing louder than my lungs was the voice in my head, the voice of my dad, “Whatever you do, just don’t take last”
I realized now that my dad knew I wasn’t competing for first place, but instead of having me get upset about being blown away, he wanted me to compete nonetheless… For anything but last place.
My little hands clinched in a fist and I began to push my body to the limit. With all my muscles firing, I was running like I had never ran before, trying to push myself, and at the same time, hoping that this kid next to me didn’t have much left in the tank. I pushed, my legs began to feel heavy and my mind kept telling me to quit, the kid was now dead even with me, and I knew that I was about to get passed for last place, right in the front of my uncles, aunts and my parents…
So I did what any competitor would do when they know they are beat.
I cheated.
I moved over into his lane and began to throw my elbows as hard as I could into his chest.
WAM
WAM
WAM
You could tell he was shocked, he didn’t know that track was a contact sport. But when a PoVey is competing, you never know what can happen during a competition.
He tried moving a lane over, but I followed, I kept elbowing and pushing him until we were all the way to the outside of the track, and now he had no where to go, on one side was me, elbows flying, waiting for him to come back in, on the other side, a steel rail.. Reality set into his mind and he began to realize that I would slam him into this rail if I had to; there was no way I was taking last.
Knowing that my will to win would go as far as to bodily injury, my competitor began to back off…
As my tired body crossed the line, a smile came on my face and I knew that I had accomplished my goal…
I probably should have been disqualified, I probably should have been in trouble, but I think that either the coaches forgot there was still kids trying to finish, they weren’t paying attention, or the battle for 30th place ment nothing to them and they just sat and enjoyed the show. Either way I didn’t care if I would’ve been disqualified, I didn’t care if my coach would’ve been mad… cause all I cared about was crossing that line…
Crossing that line as being anything.. but last…
