This is definitely a story in the book that holds a special place like no other. It was the very first anecdote ever written and it technically launched the book! This is my first 5K run during the Fall Frolic in Hammond, Indiana at Purdue Calumet. Enjoy! – Chad
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“Sucking Wind” and “A One Man Rapture”
Sunlight. It pours in through the window. It’s a silent intruder and doesn’t knock over any vases or picture frames skulking into my bedroom. It’s just there. Through the blinds and under the midnight blue curtains.
My eyes are already open. Normally they snap wide awake, like Dracula in the movies. I think the Count had the right idea: stay out all night, sleep all day.
But I haven’t really slept. Too excited. Dracula could sleep all day. He didn’t have a race this morning but I did.
A five kilometer race on a Saturday morning. It’s a chilly fifty-five degrees outside. I’m always amazed at how good an idea sounds before you actually have to do it. I’d call myself a dumb ass but why punish myself? Three miles would be doing that for me soon enough.
“You should get checked out by a doctor…”
My mom stood in the doorway of her bedroom and spoke caution. Her voice was soft as if she feared stopping my heart in my chest. Dropping me right in front of her. She has fear in her voice. The fear of burying another child. 23
At Purdue Calumet, it’s brisk. Everything’s moving kind of slow as I walk through the parking lot. There are people stretching, congregating and talking.
There’s a charge in the air, like Christmas shopping.
We line up.
Moving past everyone in line is like walking past buzzing hives. Every individual is popping on the inside. Aside from my sheer excitement there is also my horror at the bright yellow shirt I’m wearing. It was given to us while registering and I needed long sleeves because the air is cool and brisk.
The golden color is bright, like someone bled out a dandelion. Black people don’t wear yellow. With coffee bean brown skin and a bright yellow shirt I look like a giant bumblebee. I am sure people would cover their pop cans if I stopped at a picnic.
We line up, the hardcore runners up front. The walkers in the back and the giant bumblebee in the middle. My weight-lifter friend Don passes by me. We shake hands and wish each other luck. He looks at me and says, “I’m going to try and set my pace. I want to get some kind of decent time…”
He means well. But the no-neck basically told me that I’m too damn slow.
Does he see a turtle instead of a giant bee?
There’s the countdown. We lean into running stances in slow motion.
The air’s silence and cold is broken by the starting-gun crack. Feet pound in unison. Muscles pump and coat over in warm blood and newfound tension. 24
We’re running. At some point, a second or minute ago, it started.
The first mile is grueling because it is boring. I cannot gauge how fast I’m moving and that is a problem. Part of my brain dedicates itself to constant swearing. There’s very little I like about this whole idea. But I started it and I’ll finish it.
Partially because I’m determined.
Mainly because I’m parked by the finish line.
I see one of the hard-core runners at a distance mark. He’s nagging me and annoying me but that’s what he’s like, nagging and annoying. Rail thin and hyperactive.
His constant energy and bony build remind me of those scavenger animals on Discovery. Hyenas would be proud they have a hardcore running type of mascot at Purdue Calumet.
I do SO want to kick his ass and I’m about six times stronger so I could do it.
I just couldn’t catch him.
The mile mark is hit and I’m told I did it in under ten minutes. I’m impressed.
Not cocky or arrogant but impressed because I remember being unable to run. I remember being an overweight child. If we drop the political correctness as did so many on the playground and in the gym, I remember being a fat kid.
Time rolls back and I can hear the taunts, the fat boy taunts. I can feel the laughter against me.
And I run.
Maybe away from what I was. Maybe towards it. Some old ghosts don’t leave unless you chase them out. In this case, maybe I’m running them out.
But what if they can run faster than me?
In the past, they always could.
By the second mile, things are slowing down.
The mile marker guy tells me I’ve hit twenty minutes. Still not bad.
I’m walking more than running. People are passing me by and giving me that “keep up!” and “You can do it!” runner-psycho-babble. Part of me wants to strangle them because I don’t see the fun they must be having. And if I could keep up and if I could do it, wouldn’t I be neck and neck with them rather than lagging behind?
They obviously do not see the devil and angel on my respective shoulders. Both are dressed like bumblebees just like me.
Funny because they both agree. I should stop this race and go home.
I ignore the celestial agreement. I keep running.
Black Parakeets Only Hatch in December 