The Front Of My Throat Is Stuck To The Back Of My Throat (Part 5 of 5)

Coach Rank nicknamed me the Rubber-band Man. He said, "Loveless, you have got to develop a more fluid running style. You bounce up and down. You are putting so much energy into going up and down. If you're running so fast now, I'd like to see how fast you can run, when you learn not to bounce up and down." During gym class one day shortly after that Coach Egan, who had been my Cross Country running coach, but he was also the basketball coach, worked with me on that and gave me some individual attention. That was a good feeling.
My friend, Joe Higbee and I ran around the perimeter of the school grounds or out into the neighborhood for our workouts for track practice. It was there that we developed a phase which we kidded each other about all through high school. "The front of my throat is stuck to the back of my throat."
And then we started having track meets with other schools.
I was unstoppable! And my mom, and sometimes my dad would come. They were my real fans, and the only ones that really mattered.
And then I got injured. It was more of a gradual strain. It was in gym class and we were doing wrestling, but I think it was all the running I was doing that aggravated it. The right side of my stomach had a bad muscle pull that hurt more and more as I ran. It got to the point where I could just barely run my races in track meets, let alone practice my running. I never even thought to go to the doctor. If I had (I learned later) he would have told me not to run at all. He felt that even high school students should not be made to run the 440 or the 880, those races were too hard.
But my track season ended in triumph. Our Granite District Championship track meet was held at Skyline High School. I had run the 880 earlier in the day and the final race would be the mile relay. There were four runners from each school, each would run one lap around the track. I was first. I got ready, then, "Runners take your mark, set." And then the starter fired his gun and we were off. (I learned later that my Mom filmed the race with the eight millimeter movie camera.) I just ran in an all out sprint. My thoughts were, "This is easy compared to the 880, I only have to run around the track once." My track shoes dug into the rubberized track with intense ferocity. I came down the final stretch in the lead and handed the baton to the next runner for our team, and I crossed the finish line. A high school student from Skyline came up to me, stopwatch in hand. "I just wanted you to know, I had you timed at 56 seconds for that 440."
"Gee thanks!" I said. 56 seconds was very fast! 56 seconds for a quarter of a mile! What a great way to end junior high school.

Coming Tomorrow: “You Can't Sluf Ward Choir Practice!”