"Risin' up, straight to the top. Had the guts, got the glory. Went the distance now I'm not gonna stop. Just a man and his will to survive. It's the eye of the tiger, it's the thrill of the fight."
Survivor - Eye of the tiger
"Guess what today is?" A lifelong friend called me the other day and before I could even say hello, he had a question for me. I thought for a moment, "Hmm, what could be so special about today?" I told him I didn't know what today was. He replied, "Come on now. You know what today is. Just think back twenty seven years ago. It will come to you." I took a minute and then it all came rushing back like a bad nightmare. Today was the twenty seventh anniversary of the notorious 400 meter race at the Eureka Invitational. It's a day I would just as soon forget - but unfortunately for me - a handful of the witnesses to that treacherous event will never let me.
My legs had turned to stone, I was positive my side was going to split in two, the color in my face was dark purple, a nauseating feeling had overtaken my whole being. "God this hurts! What did I do to deserve this pain and anguish?" My thoughts were of nothing more than survival at the two hundred meter mark. The thought of pulling up lame entered my head like a locomotive steaming down the track. "My legs, god I can't feel my legs, my side is going to split, my breath. I can't breathe. Please just let me finish." The limpness that was my body at the time pushed its way past the three hundred meter mark. "One hundred more meters to go! Bulldog pride!" I told myself.
"Clear the track! Clear the track! We still have a runner coming in." The ominous voice of the judge was a mere murmur as I slumbered across the finish line. By then most of the competition were putting on their sweats and rehydrating. I couldn't think, I couldn't breath, I couldn't talk. "Son, you don't look so good. Why don't you sit down for a minute and gather yourself." I didn't need to hear the judge's words twice. I went down on the track like a sack of potatoes.
The few minutes following my collapse are spotty, I remember my track coach standing over me and asking if I was OK. I grunted a little and he said, "He's OK, give him a few minutes to recover," he then walked off. A few moments later I look up with a fuzzy glare and see a couple of my high school chums standing over me and laughing (This was the very moment the story first grew legs) - "Clear the track! Clear the track!" Their voices and laughter were like echoes in my throbbing head. One of them then said, "Goddamn, that was the funniest thing I have ever seen. Clear the track! Clear the track!" They then walk away laughing and leaving me to languish like a varmint that had just been run over on the road.
Twenty seven years is a long time. Think about it. The country has gone through five presidents, a technological revolution, the Red Sox have won the World Series three times...Hell, the Chiefs even won a playoff game in that time span. You would think by now a moment like that would have passed through my friends cognitive thinking. I told him that just before our conversation was about to end. You want to know what he told me? Let me quote him verbatim - "I will remember that day until I die. Seeing the pain and anguish in your face as you crossed the finish line and collapsed. And then hearing the judge yell 'Clear the track! Clear the track!' Shit, that is and will always be one of the funniest things I have ever seen."
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