| |
|
|
|
|
I Hope Haile Would Be Proud...
I Hope Haile Would Be Proud...
\r\n
\r\nBy Torin Koos
\r\n
\r\nFour slices of twelve-grain bread spring from the toaster. Tossing them onto my plate I fill up a cup with coffee, a glass with orange juice, then hurry to the closest television. The sun might not yet have risen in New Zealand, but it’s nearing midnight in Athens and a marquee Olympic event is minutes away. Turning on the television, the men’s 10,000-meter runners prance around track, getting in their final warm up strides. Amid cheers three Americans and twenty other odd competitors step to the line. The announcer introduces the final runner. “And number 1637, wearing the green and red singlet of Ethiopia, a six time world champion, nineteen time world record record holder, two time Olympic champion… Haile Gebrselassie,” only the crowd’s volume drowns his name out. Elvis could have walked into the arena and 70,000 fans wouldn’t have noticed. His Achilles tendon might ache now and despite being seasons past his best years the people still love him. Haile takes the scene in, raising his hand in appreciation. He smiles; a big, grinning, toothy smile. And I smile with him. An aging champion, stepping into the ring for another heavyweight title - this is as good as it gets. Sport makes for great theatre. Two hours later I’m hurting. Twelve kilometers into a forty-two kilometer race the pace is taking its toll. I’m tired, from both cumulative effects of a four-week training camp and reeling back the race leaders after breaking a pole. My glycogen stores are running on empty too, from dropping a mid-race feed. It’s just all too much. Just like the snapping of an elastic band the lead pack breaks away. I’ve got two choices; charge on alone, hoping that I feel better or let up and get absorbed by the chase pack where I can lock into a zombie like trance behind them, easing the psychic load and reducing air resistance. For reasons unknown to me now I decide to go solo. Interestingly, after five more kilometers the leaders stop pulling away. Their advantage stabilizes. The chase pack isn’t hunting me down. There is some hope… Four miles into the 10,000 (meters) Haile leads, whittling the field down to lead group of five with a series of sixty-three second laps. Haile looks good, but so do his four pursuers. “He’s crafty and just might find a way to win this one,” I say to myself. Coming into the final mile, though, the pace quickens and the pack begins to really throw down. It took a sixty-second lap but Haile has been broken. Neither the gold, nor the silver nor bronze will be his, yet he charges on. At the finish he breaks into a weary smile. My appreciation for athletics and the Olympics (movement) grows. Even in a loss Haile showed the challenging spirit of a champion. About my race, you ask? Well, it wasn’t my finest. The last kilometers were a slow death. I finished six minutes out. It just wasn’t a great day. Rather it was the other kind, when the competition is going better, racing hurts more than usual, and you have to dig deep to salvage the race. Crossing the finish line I smiled because that’s what it’s about –making the effort, accepting the result, and going from there. I hope Haile would be proud.
\r\n
\r\n
\r\n
 \n
Koos, back training in the U.S. of A.
\r\n
Written By: TKoosDate Posted: 8/31/2004Number of Views: 272
Return |
|
|
|
|
|
|