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Another
Kind of Athlete |
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| Cross-country
runners don't get championship rings, MVP trophies or
offers to endorse deodorant or fancy cars. Cross-country
runners get shin splints, blisters on their feet, runny
noses, watery eyes and painful cramps. There's no crowd,
no cheerleaders, just the hard ground and ugly trees with
no leaves. What cross country runners do get is a special
kind of self-satisfaction that few of us are ever privileged
to experience. It's not from winning, it's merely from
finishing. It's going out on a chilly, dark afternoon
to stand on the starting line. It's running through puddles
and muddy spots. It's going up hills and down hills, all
the while telling lies to your legs. It's the ability
to keep on running when others pass you, sometimes right
at the end. The ability to keep running is having the
guts deep inside you to give it your all. That, my friends,
is reality. Reality is the kid you see when you're driving
through an abandoned park or past a snowy track. He's
the kid with the stocking cap and the sweat- stained shirt,
loping along for no apparent reason. His eyelids flickering
wildly, in a hypnotic trance of pain and determination
contorting his face. Maybe he wont be able to put into
words why he runs. Maybe he will mention something about
gutting it out or pushing through the pain barrier or
running because he has this internal drive to discover
just how much he is capable (or not capable of). That
can be the harshest kind of reality. Anyone who is willing
to confront it, is, in the truest, purest sense, not just
an athlete but another kind of hero. |
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– Zach
Emerson – |
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