A case of mistaken identity: The runners’ edition

I’ve always been a runner.

I would run from one point to the next, usually as fast as I could, taking in the sights as the trees whipped past me and as I whipped past the other kids. For awhile, from elementary to middle school and even in high school, I was the fastest. No one could come close to matching my speed.

When I was in junior high, people started to notice.

I lined up for a track meet, the first of many, and dashed as quickly as I could from the starting line to the finish line. When it ended, I looked back and saw the other students still huffing and puffing along their route. The crowds, mainly just parents and brothers and sisters of the other students, were cheering their athletes on, but it was me that they looked at in amazement.

They couldn’t believe how fast I ran, I thought at the time.

I’ll never forget the look on my pastor’s face when he realized that I was much quicker than the others. It was as if, I thought later, that he was seeing the second coming of Christ, in runner’s form.

After awhile, and a lot more races, I became known as the fastest kid in my grade and on my teams. Plenty of kids would challenge me, but all would lose, even my twin brother, who was the only one to come close to matching my speed.

It was in high school, though, when we really became competitive.