Running barefoot up the deep sands
Of the oat-planted hill owned by Uncle Peggy
In the cool days of the autumns
Of the 1950’s and early 60’s
Thinking I’m a speedy gazelle,
but de facto
A young beast of a boy lumbering
In the extremely loose soil just east of Devine.
First place in the elementary school races!
Which resulted in an empowering zeal
At that old school across the street from St. Joseph’s.
Coached the amazing Gus
From rural Pawnee and then Harlandale of San’tone–
“Hands all the way up to the line.
Cock your body into a tight spring
Ready to smoothly and quickly burst forward
At the very first sound from the gun.
Hug that line to your left;
It’s the shortest distance.
Sprint really stretching those legs out.
Be relaxed,
And stride at ninety percent of full speed through 330 yards.
Then gut it out with all your might through the 440 finish.”
Coacher’s calming but persistent training
And communicating / learning on both our parts
Led me to a win in the district meet
On that dirt track in Devine
One lovely, but very warm, spring day
In 1964!
(Even though I messed up on the time of the final,
Had just eaten a big T-bone steak at home,
And almost missed that very important race!)
This led to regional at Texas A&I
“Faster paul! FASTER!!!”
(I’d asked really good sprinter Bobby Bendele
To let me know at the 330
If I could coast in to the finish in the prelims
To save energy for the finals.)
In the finals I did beat the previous year’s State Champion,
The black and beautiful-ly muscled and very long-legged June Butler.
(He pulled a hamstring.)
Because of pure luck (ask SA stadium “tocayo” Coach Jerry Comalander for the story)
I came in second
And got to go to Austin for the state meet
Along with my truly fast-running and really quick teammate Bobby.
All Comer’s Track and Field at Tift High
In the summers of the late 1970’s in Tifton, Georgia,
Where I worked as Pasture-Small Grain Entomologist
At the expansive Coastal Plains Experiment Station.
“I can take these youngsters
In the sprints.”
And I did compete well against the youthful Georgians,
Especially in the 440.
“Got to beat that durn Leon Stacy.
He’s a bit younger
And he may have won the mile
At the high school state meet in Oklahoma
But he’s a smoker.
How the heck is it he comes in first
And me second in these entomological fun runs?”
“Train! Train! Train!
100 yards full speed
And walk a 100.
Repeat this 20 times.” …
“Got damn!
I finally got him!”
“A 15-miler in the Okefenokee?”
“Naw guys.
It’s summer and will be too damn HOT and HUMID!”
I’d never run more than a 10-K.
But peer pressure won me over.
And by focusing on a young little blond in front of me
Bouncing easily over the terrain,
I ended up leaving my compadres behind,
And running a pretty good race.
In all of my five and 10-K’s,
It was the hills where I excelled,
Made up time, and passed other runners
Thanks I suppose to those runs
Up Uncle Peggy’s sandy hill in Devine.
Pensacola in Naval Air training.
In races in our outfit
Only squeaky-voiced good ol’ Chuck Baldwin,
A damn good pilot
From Denton, Texas …
(And when asked how far it is across Texas
He’d creak out
“About a million miles.”)
Anyway, he was the only one
Who could beat me in those Pensacola runs.
Freely traversing with some considerably speed
St. George and Padre Island
Copacabana and other beaches
Desert ups and downs in Big Bend
Greener and steeper inclines, declines
in North Georgia near Helen.
My knees are shot now
But I can still experience the running exhilaration
On my Trek-1000
Or in a sprinting swim.
……………………..
Before agrilogistics and industrialization,
Capitalism, and mind-swamping electronic information
There were 200,000 years of living truthfully
And of running truthfully.
We were born to run!
pbm
( 7 S’s / VV->^^ )
