clunk, clunk. clunk--an old man sprinting

I jog up to my chosen starting point, and put on a colossal burst of energy as I cross the stripe on the asphalt. My whole body shakes. I begin well, concentrating… “knees, toes.” I’m actually thinking about running on my toes and picking up my knees. Supposedly, this is what one must do to run at the absolute fastest pace possible. 
At least I’m trying to run on my toes, because…really. Can anyone ‘run on their toes?’ Doesn’t your heel have to hit the ground at some point? Of course, Barbie could do it because her feet are perpetually angled downward so they fit nicely into high heeled shoes.

My goal is 80 seconds, which is already a concession. When I first found the track and started the 1/4-mile sprints, my goal was 75 seconds; that’s the pace that my nephew can run for four laps. I’m thinking an old guy like me ought to be able to do it for one lap. Right. I like to tell people that I race against myself because that is the one runner I think I might be able to beat. 

I give thanks for the American obsession with high school sports that allows such beautiful tracks to be found in even the smallest of little towns in the middle of Iowa. My shoes slip not at all as I move around the track. But I shouldn’t clutter my mind with these thoughts…”knees, toes”

Unfortunately, I can hear my footsteps. Clunk, clunk, clunk. I usually have the theme from Rocky in my ears, or “ROY G. BIV” by They Might Be Giants which has a beat that corresponds with the cadence of my stride. But this time, I couldn’t find my headphones, so I have nothing. Clunk, clunk, clunk. 

At the halfway point and I look at my watch—40+ seconds.  Almost exactly on pace for 80 seconds. I push it. “Pour it on” –no. But I do my best.

Truthfully, I rejoice in the fact that I can do this—a 48-year-old man running without hesitation, the absolute fastest that my body can move. Five years ago, this would have been impossible.

Now it’s all psychological. I have to concentrate! The music, my goal, my nephew, American high school sports, five years ago, my footsteps, my time, Barbie dolls…it’s all distraction. 

KNEES! TOES!

Just as I cross the point where I began this one lap of all-out exertion, I reach to my left arm and find the button on my watch. BEEP.  

I look down.

80.09 seconds!

Nine one-hundredths of a second!  Not 1% faster, not .1% faster, not .01% faster, but .001% faster and I’d have made my goal.  That’s like a wooden stick that is too thick for a hole…one swipe of sandpaper, and it goes through. I needed one more swipe of sandpaper.