Running a mile isn?t that easy
If he knows nothing else, my son now knows exactly how long a mile is, and, let me tell you, it is considerably longer than he thought it was.
In the tradition of father and son togetherness, I decided it would be nice for me and my son to participate in the Stars and Stripes Fun Run downtown on July 4. During various years in the past, I?ve run the 5K (3.2-mile) portion of the event and found it was not fun for those who don?t run regularly. Actually, it generally proved quite painful to me as stuff which has never hurt would begin hurting about halfway into the run, turning the event into more of a walk/run for me.
However, this year was the first year of the one-mile run, an optional event for those who didn?t want to run the 5K or walk the event. I?d long said I could run a mile with ease since that was about the place in the 5K which I generally started feeling it.
So, this year I entered the mile run and asked my son to join me, something he willingly did given his distorted sense of distance. I figured he had no clue as to what a mile was when we were standing on the starting line as the July 4 heat had already begun warming up the downtown pavement.
?How far do you think a mile is?? I asked Jack as he prepared to drive off the starting line.
To my question, he pointed his finger to the end of Main from where we were standing in front of the courthouse. Actually, the mile involved a loop of downtown running from Court Square down to Cook?s Pawn, around onto Morford, back across downtown to Hardee?s then back onto Main for a return to the square. His estimate was about an eighth of the distance.
I chuckled as the opening gun sounded, knowing he had no clue as to the distance. He quickly exploded out of the gate, passing runners left and right as I urged him to pace himself as I sat in at a regular jog. There was no way he could keep this pace, or so I thought.
However, I was soon surprised to see his fast pace onto Morford and onto the straight-away as we neared Hardee?s. It then dawned on me that there was a possibility I could be beaten by my 8-year-old son the first time he?d ever run a real race. And, worse case was I had a pulled hamstring from softball so I had no sprinter?s kick to catch him if he kept the pace.
Then came the wall, hitting him like a ton of bricks as he made the turn at Hardee?s. The gap was quickly erased as he began trying to hitch a ride to my shirt tail as we came down Main. Out of my sense of fair play, I slowed to let him keep up, that is, until I heard the pitter patter of a little girl who had broken into a sprint behind us.
?You?re on your own,? I exclaimed, summoning what kick I had in the hamstring, leaving Jack in my dust. ?I?m not getting beat by a little girl.?
For those wondering, I was able to hold off the little girl, by a slim margin (hey, I had a pulled hammy) while Jack clocked in about 10 seconds behind me with a new appreciation of how far a mile is. We also each took second place trophies in our divisions so not a bad father-son day. The first place folks were so far ahead that I didn?t even realize they were in front of us.
While Jack learned the distance of the mile, I learned I?d better train a little before next year because 10 seconds isn?t exactly a comfortable margin.
Duane Sherrill is a reporter for the Standard. He can be reached at 473-2191 or by e-mail at [email protected].