I was eight years old. A third grader. Elementary school…
We had to choose an instrument to play.
I picked the saxophone.
The sax is a very cool instrument.
I was eight years old. A third grader. Elementary school…
We had to choose an instrument to play.
I picked the saxophone.
The sax is a very cool instrument.
These might be old stories, but they are all worth repeating because they speak to a common theme.
(For added enjoyment, follow the hyperlinks embedded in this post.)
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The year was 1954. In athletics there was a sense that a human could not physically run faster than a four minute mile. “It’s impossible,” many said. Athlete after athlete trained and tried – and all fell short. The four minute mile seemed to be an impassible barrier.
And then, on May 6, 1954, Roger Bannister did it. Bannister ran a sub-four minute mile! He did something no human being had ever done before. The impossible had occurred – like catching lightning in a bottle. Many thought that Bannister’s feat was fluke, a one-in-a-million occurrence.
Six weeks later, an Australian, John Landy, bested Roger Bannister’s time.
Recently I ran into one of my biggest fears. The week was drawing to a close and I did not have any thoughts or new material for a weekly passage that I write for teachers. (Those weekly passages helped give birth to this blog.)
I am a believer in a theory I termed, “Just Start Writing.” I find that when I start to put words to the page, my creative juices start to flow, the blank page disappears, and a passage (at least in rough draft form) is completed.
What follows is a reflection that I originally wrote for teachers, but I believe the bigger message can be applied for all.
It is probably somewhat normal, even for adults, to have favorite sports figures that they root for. Baseball, football, and hockey players, tennis and golf stars, auto racers, and others come to mind. With that being said, there are probably few people who have a professional marathoner for whom they root.
I am one of those people. I am fan of Meb Keflezighi. He’s a champion marathoner.
But it hasn’t always been that way.
For a short time, I was going to title this blog 26.2. Why 26.2? It’s simple, that’s the distance of a marathon.
I run marathons.
I’m not fast. I don’t ever win. If I finish in the top 20% of all runners in a given race, I am thrilled. Lately, as I get get older, I am becoming happy to finish in the top 50% of all runners.