The Milk Run

For a very short time, when I was in middle school, I tried to be a runner. I took part in track and field. When I was 11 years old, I even joined the cross-country team. I’m not sure why I joined the cross-country running team. I was not hugely athletic. I was much happier in the library than in the gymnasium or on a soccer field. But I had a friend that was an excellent athlete and so I probably joined up because Shannon did. I don’t remember practicing with the team and I definitely never went running on my own. But I do remember the big fall cross-country event. It was called The Milk Run. In my head, I always say it with an ominous note… THE MILK RUN. Our team piled onto a bus and drove to a country school in the area where they had a good cross-country track. The first race of the day was for the girls. The boys would run when we had finished. We all lined up at the starting line, and when the signal went, we began to run. It was a long race. It went through the trees and around a field. I ran… and walked… and jogged… and walked… My friend Shannon ran with me for a while and then passed me… She fell at one point and hurt her ankle, but she kept running… she even passed me again on her second time around the loop. I jogged on for what seemed like forever… walking when I couldn’t run any more. Eventually, I stopped seeing other people because they had all passed me at some point. But I kept going. Just before I rounded the last corner, I heard a strange noise. It was the starting gun. Then 50 boys came running towards me along the path… I had to get to the side, out of their way. All of the other girls had already finished the race… and they had started the boys before I even reached the finish line. I was embarrassed and discouraged. But I gathered up some courage and began to actually run the last stretch of my race. And as I crossed the finish line, my friends and coaches and teachers were there, yelling and cheering me on. I came in dead last… but I finished the race.

Source: My Memory