Pride going before all ...

It was back in the late 1970s and my exercise phase showed real progress. I had entered an affair to run around the state capitol in Little Rock, each lap being a kilometer and people had pledged so much for each one I ran. I finished the whole 10K. First time. I remember that then Governor Bill Clinton came out and ran a lap or two. Just as he climbed the biggest hill in the course and was panting like crazy, a TV crew came along in a golf cart wanting an interview. That was pretty funny to everyone except the Governor.

Anyway, I ran a couple more 10Ks after that, 6.2 miles each. Remember that I was at stroke-level blood-pressure when I had wandered into the Downtown YMCA in Little Rock a couple of years before to seek help. I was at my “fighting weight” by now, 50 pounds or so down from the bulk I had gained after I quit smoking in the Navy.

At any rate, I thought I was hot stuff, all new clothes, a practiced strut, and I was having my hair “styled” and not cut. My neighbor and I were hitting five miles a day. In bad weather, I used a 16-lap running track at the “Y.” Ready for the big time, I was. I was certain that a modelling contract lay in my future.

Then an awful thing happened. Not a disastrous awful, but an embarrassing awful. I had to go and invite my wife to watch me perform. To my surprise, she agreed. She always was the one to spot premonitions and avail herself of them.

It happened this way.

Someone announced a 5K race at Burns Park in North Little Rock. A 5K? A mere 3.1 miles? Child’s play. Come on Baby.

First thing she said when we got out of the car at the race site was, “There’s an old boyfriend of mine.” I felt a shard of dread until I looked at the object of her pointing. It was, well, how can I put it? It was seriously out-of-shape looking guy, resembling more Lou Costello than Bill Rogers. “Him?” I said.

“Yeah,” she said. “We dated in college.” Then she left to talk to him as I registered. When I came back to them, they were deep in conversation, ignoring me completely. No problem. I took one look at him and determined that he would probably expire after the first kilometer. He left to register. She turned to me and smiled that little smile she uses when she knows something I don’t.

“Can he run three miles?” I said. “He doesn’t look to be in good shape to me.”

She just smiled and turned back to him as he returned from registering. I ignored them and walked over to visit some friends from the “Y.” I’d finish as he was having his first heart seizure and get her away from here long before they carried him to the finish line. I did happen to notice that he was well-tanned, though. I also noticed he was standing closer to her than before. Just before I turned toward the starting line, they both laughed and she touched his arm with a hand.

“I’ll enjoy watching him suffer,” I thought.

“He lined up beside me without saying a word and the race started. This old boyfriend took off ahead of me with wads of stomach fat flopping from side to side with each stride. He was soon out of sight, but this just heightened my anticipation at seeing him kneeled over at the side of the path retching violently as I passed. I readied myself for the pleasure.

But, I didn’t see him again until I crossed the finish line. There he was, under a tree and standing even closer to my beloved than before. Now when they laughed, she put her hand even higher on his arm. I wandered over with, I’m sure, a great deal of puzzlement clouding my face.

“At last,” she said. “Finally finish, did you?” It was only at that point that she introduced us and returned to the act of ignoring me.

We’ve never mentioned that day again, even after all these years.

"The past is never dead.

It's not even past."

- William Faulkner