Two Miles ’til Pascha

Back in high school, my football coach required all the players who were not also on the baseball team to run track in the off season.

(Then there was that one year that we had a competing volley ball team, but that was a different time. I won’t tell you what the ol’ coach thought of boys playin’ volley ball.)

Of course, his goal was to keep us in good shape. So, spring time was track time.

Now, look at me. Do I look like a track star to you?

For those of you listening by radio, let me just say: The answer to that question is “Uh … no.”

But, there I was for our first track meet – my first one ever – and, if memory serves, I believe I was signed up to put the shot, fling the discus, and maybe run the first leg of a relay race.

No biggie. Typical lineman fare.

Then the coach came in before the meet to give us a pep talk and to inform us that the little fellow who was signed up to run the 2-mile was sick … and we needed a replacement.

No one raised their hand to volunteer.

Y’all, pfffff … 2 miles? Hello? TWO ~ MILES! Come on! I could do that, I reasoned. So without further hesitation, I raised my hand. I volunteered.

My coach, a much smarter man than I, looked at me like I had six heads. The other track team members looked at me with, what I thought was, awe and admiration. A faint smile came upon the coach’s lips and he asked …

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