Chapter 3, Blog 1
By Chuck Wells As Told To Ray Hochgesang
Olympic-sized dreams die hard. Mine clung to life support. After my gut-wrenching jaunt of about a hundred yards, I was ready to yank the plug.
Melinda was right. I was delusional.
Never could I remember feeling so sore, beaten and old – not even after that masochistic ritual known as cross country. During high school, I suffered that torture every autumn in order to run track in the spring.
Just 30 short years ago. Boy oh boy, was I young and naive. Now I was just plain …
Yes, crazy to think it would take no time to sand off years of rust. Instead, I could see this would take months or even years. What was the so-called rule of thumb? A month of training for each year of inactivity.
Forget 2008 in Beijing and aim for 2012 London. And I would be 50 what?
Even an idiot like me could sense the window slamming shut. It was now or …
My muscles had voted to join the union and were out on strike. Forget negotiating. They were dead set against training of any kind. For them, it was a matter of principle and lactic acid. So the next day I didn’t run. I couldn’t. It didn’t matter how I moved, when I moved or why I moved. It hurt. I had no choice. I called off work.
Actually, I liked my job at Hoffman Engineering, but I stayed in bed, crawling out only when I had to. By 3 o’clock, I was still sore but also bored. So bored, I started a load of laundry. At half past 3, Ralphie called. When Ralphie was sober, well, you wouldn’t know him. He was nice, considerate, almost human.
He wanted a training session report.
“How the hell did you know?”
“Saw Lindy at Walmart. Claimed yar little run almost killed ya.”
“Yeah, I’m damned lucky to still be alive,” I said.
“Wuz it dat bad?”
“They shoot horses in better shape than I am.”
That made Ralphie laugh, which made me laugh.
And that made me hurt.
Then I discovered why he called. Ralphie had found one of his old shot puts. “Jist for kicks,” he wanted to see how far he could throw it. Could I shag for him?
Copyright © 2012 by Chuck H. Wells/Ray Hochgesang