Kvelve's Comments: Track dreams

This track and field stuff amazes and befuddles me in a good, envious kind of way.

Allow me to explain. 

I’ve always liked watching track meets; they are like being in a sensory deprivation tank in an overload kind of way. 

The closest thing I can compare a full-blown track meet to is a three-ring circus, with more than three rings. 

Confused? Welcome to my world. 

First, I have never been a runner or a fan of running. In short, as in 40-yards or less, distances I was faster than a lot of people might have imagined given my size. But in short distances, I could come off a line of scrimmage pretty quickly. 

After 40 yards, I was usually content to watch the running back cross the goal line, way downfield.  I’ve always joked that I could never be a distance runner because there are lots of days, I don’t like to drive more than 40 yards. 

So, there are a bunch of track events I would not enter, pretty much anything that involves running more or 40 yards, or doing so rapidly. 

I tried the weights, figuring I’m a big and pretty strong guy, this should be right up my alley. 

Wrong. 

The javelin throw, I found out, is like a ballet for strong folks with balance. I could never get the hang of the approach run and when to let the spear fly.  The coach who suggested I try something else was probably doing so for my safety and that any spectators. 

On to the shot put.  Same story.  I never got the spin, grunt and throw stuff down, which is even more amplified in the discus. 

So, what was left? Hurdles? I would never have made it past a few practices, I feared, without losing my ability to sire some children. Running into a wood slat suspended above the track when you aren’t likely to clear said obstacle is not conducive to future fatherhood. 

High jump? Yeah, right. The basketball coaches used to love the way I could take up space underneath the basket, but they also noted that at the height of my jumping ability someone could possibly slide a dime between my shoe and the floor. 

Long jump? Nope. Gravity, nuff said. 

Triple jump? Boy, can you get tangled up remembering hop, skip and jump and it ain’t a cool thing when you do. 

What does that leave? Popcorn vendor? Guy who sells programs or shows folks to their seats? Parking lot security? 

Football? Ding, ding, ding...we have a winner. 

Writing sports as an old guy? Yup. 

I suspect my kids are glad I never doggedly pursued the hurdles!