A memory came back to me this morning as I was running. My side hurt a little, and so did my left hip. The thought of quitting came to my mind as I was slightly wincing in pain as I jogged around the neighborhood.
I suddenly remembered a middle aged, balding man, with a bright red face yelling at me. A glob of spittle dangling from his lip, he stared at me with outrage as I walked of the track in a 1500m or mile run contest. You see my mom decided that I needed to be more involved in sports. Perhaps give me a little backbone, perhaps earn me some friends, perhaps become less of the scrawny bean pole of a kid that I was. After attempting a few sports, we settled upon track and field. Who could mess that up right?
I was horrible at sprinting. so the coach decided to try me out in a longer contest. There was not much time for me to practice, and I am not sure I even had a chance to run at all prior to the event. I showed up on Saturday morning for a match and I was ceremoniously lined up and soon enough the starting gun announced the run. This run requires you to run around the oval track a few times (four I believe) and by the time the fourth lap came around I was hopelessly behind.
In fact, I think they were lining up for the next race by the time I made the last curve in the final stretch. All the other competitors had long since finished. With my side cramping, my ego bruised even more, I just quietly walked off the track without finishing. No one noticed, except for one. There he was, that coach, staring me in the face and screaming with intensity.
His main point was – I do not care if you finish last, you need to finish. Never give up. I ignored him and quit track and field for good.
Now many years later, I do not remember that coach’s name. However, I remember his message. I can finally say with some pride – coach, this morning I did not give up. I finished.
Guy Reams (149)
365 Member
