COLUMN
challenge to my vitality, it was race
time.
The next thing I knew, he put on
running shorts, and the rest of the
family was giddy to have a front
row seat to the Lucas vs. Lucas
showdown.
We decided on a 50-yard foot
race along our driveway, starting
at our cedar tree and ending at my
dad’s driveway next door, which I
estimated to be the perfect distance
for me. Not too long where I will run
out of energy, but long enough for
me to show my speed.
I ASSUMED
I’D BE WISER
THAN I AM.
I WAS SURE
I’D BE MORE
SEDENTARY,
IN MY
RECLINER
CHAIR
WATCHING
MATLOCK.
My wife videod the spectacle,
and I thought to myself, “Good. I’ll
be glad I have the footage as proof
when I beat him.” At this point, I had
pretty much convinced myself that
against all odds I was going to pull
out the win.
“On your mark, get set!” yelled out
my wife and official starter. “Go!”
The start of the race was bit of a
blur. I remember coming out of my
starting stance strong. I had on my
fastest shoes. I had a good jump
when I heard “Go!” I was focused
on pushing forward and getting into
a quick sprint.
And then things start to go
sideways.
Literally, I went sideways as I
started to lose my balance in the
first strides and fell over onto my
knee and shoulder. As quickly as it
started, I was on the ground rolling
to a stop and trying to decide if I had
hurt anything beyond my pride.
I heard laughs from the cheering
section, which were painful. I then
heard real concern from my son:
“Dad, are you OK?”
My hip was a little sore and the
sting of humiliation was sharp. I
laughed at myself as I stood up and
checked my body for visible damage.
I tried to play it off as though I had
planned the stumble.
My son yelled to the videographer,
“Please text that to me because I
know Dad will try to erase the
video.” The thought of destroying
the evidence had indeed already
crossed my mind.
Despite my smile and attempt to
play off the embarrassing results, the
truth of the matter is that until that
moment – the moment I skidded to
the pavement – I still felt like I had
a chance. I still felt 10, 20, even 30
years younger than I was.
This literal race for the ages has
left me with an updated theory on
Father Time.
Age may be relative, but sooner or
later it outruns us all. The next time
I challenge someone to a footrace, it
won’t be my son 30 years my junior.
It will be my bald buddies from high
school. Those guys are really starting
to look old.
VOTE
M AY 8
For actual video footage of the
Race for the Ages, check out
Extolmag.com
ApplegateForOffice.com
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APRIL/MAY 2018 : EXTOL
Paid for by Applegate For Office
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