Running for Glory

The pistol sounded and the runners surged forward from the starting line. At the head of the mob were a number of runners giving it their all, trying to stay near the front of the pack, arms pumping and heads swiveling in an attempt to see who was passing them. Others were not so concerned with making a good start as with just finishing, so they began the course with no sense of urgency, content to trot along the course at an easy pace. Somewhere in the middle was Kate.

Kate was serious about the race. She had been well trained, taking full advantage of the benefit of a wise coach who had run this course himself. He knew the ins and outs of this path, and saw to it that Kate knew them, too. What's more, Kate's coach had won the race, not merely been a participant. But he seemed to receive greater joy from helping Kate than from his victory of long ago.

Her coach had often reminded her, "It's a long-distance race, not a sprint. Many will start of with a burst, and fizzle out early, with no strength left to finish. You, Kate, must pace yourself."

Though Kate felt twinges of despair as she watched the early leaders tear off, she maintained her moderate stride, saving up energy for when she would need it most. A few miles down the road, Kate heard snickering over her left shoulder. She turned to see a runner wearing every running accessory she could think of, from special sunglasses to the latest technological marvel in footwear.

"Nice shoes," he barked, looking at Kate and giggling smugly. Briefly Kate glanced down at her shoes, then at his, and was tempted to discouragement, as hers were not nearly as flashy. Then the words of her coach came to her.

"Your shoes are fine, Kate. It's your endurance that needs work. Keep training. Don't quit." After another half mile, the well-dressed but poorly trained runner fell back. Kate thought to herself that while he wouldn't win, he looked very stylish. She continued at her moderate pace.

Parts of the course were straight road with unchanging scenery for miles. Kate found these areas more difficult than uphill stretches or sharp turns. It was during these stretches that Kate most wanted to quit.

"Keep your mind on winning the race, Kate," her coach had said. "I am teaching you everything you need to win. Don't let your feelings overcome the facts." She listened to her coach, not the growing desire to give up, and continued.

Before long, she passed many runners who had abandoned the race, sitting by the side of the road, heads down. She recognized some of them as the sprinters who had tried early to stay out front. Her coach was right. They weren't prepared for this kind of race. Their coaches, if they had any, weren't as knowledgeable or experienced as hers.

Some of the defeated called to her as she ran by, telling her she would never make it. No one could reach the finish line, they said, offering themselves as living proof. Kate pressed on. Her trust in her coach's words had grown more and more solid throughout the race. He had been right about everything, and Kate wished she had been this trusting at the outset. Such trust would have spared her a great deal of anxiety.

The last mile was before her now, and in front of her was one runner. Kate's strength was sapped, even though she had done all she had been taught. She didn't have the leg strength left to pass the runner.

Kate felt her hopes slipping away. She had almost despaired when she looked up and saw her coach, standing just beyond the finish line. She felt her legs, almost without her consent, move faster than she thought they were able to. It was almost as if she was getting pushed from behind. She marveled as the tape broke across her chest. Her agony had paid off. She had won.

But in all actuality, it was not her agony that had given her the victory. She had trained hard, putting in many miles leading up to this moment. She had sweated and ached and disciplined herself, but she could see that it was not all the hard work that had brought her to this point. It was her coach, and his wisdom and sacrifice that had given Kate the victory. There were other runners who had trained harder, but no other runners relied on her coach and his wisdom as completely as Kate had. The coach was, in a sense, running the race through Kate, and she, at race's end, had finally reached this conclusion: the victory was his.

At the awards ceremony, Kate placed the medal around the neck of her coach and urged him onto the winner's platform. As all eyes were focused on her coach, Kate did not feel envy, but an indescribable joy. It was the most fitting thing she had ever done. The glory was in the appropriate place, away from her, and on the true source of her victory. Having stepped down, she basked in that glory, as the gathered multitudes applauded.

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Contributed byStephen F. Pizzini
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