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Now that’s what you could call….uh…perseverance?

Toward the end of 1971, I was still pretty young.  And relatively healthy (despite the recreational inclination of those iconic 70s and a two year old cigarette habit that would last for another 40 years).  I was also serving time in the U.S. Army as a clerk/typist running an offset printer in a tiny, windowless room on the first floor of the Army Security building at Fort Meade, Maryland.  I still wonder about that from time to time but heck, we all do things throughout life that don’t necessarily fit in with who we are.  Or aren’t.

So, the healthy part:  Three friends and I started getting up early to run laps around an on-base park.  It wasn’t really any kind of physical regimen - more a group activity that wasn’t regulated by any part of our military lives. One day we saw a bulletin board notice about an informal inter-unit track and field competition.  It included all the usual events – shot put,  javelin throw, long jump, 100 yard dash, relay race…   The four of us decided that we could enter into the relay race – hell, it wouldn’t require either of us to kill ourselves for more than a quarter of a lap.  So we did.  And went.  And competed, not very well, but finishing a respectable third.

Then stupidity set in.

There was a final, hurdle race.  With only two entrants.  A guaranteed third place that would add points to our effort in the competition.  Hurdles, right?  Just run, jump, run, jump, etc.  I used to watch guys do that out back of my old high school during gym class.   I could do that.

The starting gun went off, I ran gamely toward the first hurdle.  For some reason, it appeared to grow as I got closer, becoming higher than it looked at a distance.  I leaped into the air, beginning my flight over the hinged wooden barrier.  My trailing left foot caught the hurdle at about toe level.  The hurdle tipped forward.  As did I.  I instinctively rolled to my right to catch the ground with my hip instead of my knees. 

Remember now – this was a GUARANTEED third place.  I dragged myself off the ground, stood up and started running again.  The other two hurdlers were well advanced, about to clear the last couple of hurdles.  I came to the second barrier.  I didn’t have as much steam by then and instead of catching the hurdle with my foot as I jumped, I caught it about mid-thigh.  Bam. Boom.

THIRD PLACE!  THIRD PLACE!

I pulled myself off of the second hurdle and began again.  The other competitors had cleared the last hurdle and were heading for the finish line.  I ran, not very fast now, to the third hurdle.  I caught that one at about waist level.

THIRD (puffpuffpuff) PLACE!

By then, I knew that I would never clear any hurdle ever in my life.  I guess people train for this sort of thing.  But the point was to cross the finish line, right?  The other runners were having a drink of water and, along with a group of other amused spectators, were watching me continue on with my quest for thirrrrrrrrd placeeeeeeeee.  By that time, I knew that it was not worth trying to leap anymore, so I just ran full on into the remaining hurdles, knocking them down with a full body thrust (at least my old football playing helped) and stepping (not quite running any longer) over them.  I staggered the remaining distance to the finish line to a spattering of polite applause and general shaking of heads.

I got the points.

I am still pretty stubborn, I think.  As a mule.

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