9/2

oh how they shouted, 'go peg leg go!' as i raced towards the finish line. the august sun unleashing it's final fury as it made it's great descent towards the horizon. neck and neck with the mighty gunderson, hero of the 100 meter dash, i could hear his breath pounding against the air a fury of a man and he was bearing towards the end.
let us take this to the beginning. my sweet mother dorthy had always enjoyed her races. she would wallop the couch and holler the television every summer while watching the races. i can still recall the tears and suicidal threats as ben johnson took down our national hero. 'oh carl the cheater won,' she cried.
my father was a football man and thus took these hours to fidget in the garage or go to the bowling alley. i, on the other hand, was too young to go anywhere so i just lay and listened. when old enough i would watch raising my innocent babe head towards the eerie blue glow of the screen. outside the birds would chirp a merry tune while inside a fury would be released against any and all that were not draped in the red white and blue.
'these colors do not run, indeed,' she hissed when the failures were multiple.
thus was the movie and soundtrack to my early summers born.
as i grew, my mother would take any chance to teach me the trade. her once lithe now plumped matronly body swinging knees violently towards the. her grey brown hair dancing before her eyes as she got into position screamed, 'bang' and made her way down the street.
'high knees and a good start those are the keys. when you run extend lemme see...'she would say and trail off as she manipulated my legs in a running motion.
i never walked proper, at the age of 12 months i took my first steps (so i am told) launching my knees toward the sky then elongated the leg out before me then bringing it back so the heel would kiss my buttocks. this would last for no more than three steps, each time i fell i would rise to starting position scream a baby's version of 'bang' and begin again.
as months turned to years the training began paying off. i was taking home sprint medals against sixth graders by kindergarden and by the time i was in third grade track offers had come pouring in.
'a runner has but one place to go and that place is eugne. in the bosom of modern running, that is where you will study.' with that i was an oregon duck. i do believe that i am still the youngest to ever accept an athletic scholarship from a division one program. there had been doubt when a certain russian power lifter had been discovered but by the time molly mckee had arrived to eugene she had become martin and it all was quietly swept under the rug.
it was under my mother's guidance and tutelage that i blossomed and under the strict demands of the oregon running team that i was preserved.
when, after my tenth year, i had won the state highschool sprint, distance and hurdling title for the fifth time, the school asked that i reduce my competitive races to just one arena my mother went a step further. she removed me from class and began home tutoring me with the idea that i could skip junior high and highschool altogether and end up in college next year.
'as talented as your legs are, my dear, your mind is the real jewel,' my father said.
'he must be challenged!' my mother conferred.
so it began.
i study in the shade underneath the family station wagon as my mother set up training courses. i studied while churning in the pool. i called out algebraic equations while leaping hurldes, quoted shakespear while high jumping and conversed in arabic inbetween baton exchanges.
'we work hard and we do it clean, that's our way.'
after ben johnson was caught for steroids my mother began writing him. she demanded that he give back the medal, she demanded that he go on television and confirm what america already knew, carl lewis is the greatest champion in track and field history. she flew into a complete rage when ben johnson decided to race the horse. she paced all night, she paced until the clock range four in the morning then cried out, 'aha!'
i leapt from the bed, but no one said go, i figured i must not have heard her right and went back to sleep.
thirteen days passed, then they arrived. television camera's from nbc showed up at our door step. there was a man in red tie and perfect hair who spoke in hushed tones towards my mother.
'is he here?' i heard her ask. the man's head nodded in affirmation, 'judas' she screamed. there was a harried motion of equipment, lights and overweight men as a figure burst into the room...it was ben johnson.
'you betta hold your judas until the ticker tape lady.' he said pointing a finger at her chest. my mother was short but not small and when she came upon you it was if the clouds took the sun. a darkness came across mr. johnson and his eyes wide with emotion began to widen from something else, fear.
'you shake on it, you shake on it you damn cheater.' she said extending her hand.
'you watch what your saying.' he said extending a muscled black arm towards her. they shook.
when i came from the toilet there was my mother.
'your gonna race him, son and your gonna beat that son of a bitch for carl, your gonna beat that son of a bitch for track and your gonna beat that son of a bitch for the USA!' she said while extending a red white and blue track suit towards me.
i could hear the birds singing in between the motors of diesel trucks and the whir grind of cameras being put through their paces. i took the suit and changed. once outside i could see mr. johnson doing stretches and knee thrusts always head forward looking as a man determined to find land. the crew had divided the street into two running lanes and on either side the lanes were lined with spectators.
while i went through the motions of warming up my mother screamed and conjoled at the camera and host.
soon enough came the call, 'runners take your mark...get set...GO!'
it was the perfect start that gave me the lead my knees high legs extending heels kissing my buttocks. at ten years old i had the lead on a olympic champion, i closed my eyes to imagine the thrill of victory to imagine mr. lewis at home finally able to salute the flag he loved so much once again. in my mind i heard the star spangled banner blare and not the horn or the screams or the whatever machine it turned out to be that caused everything to go black.
it was the pain of seeing leg, the champion lead leg being amputated that caused my mother to slip into a coma, they don't say but i believe. it was the loss of the leg that caused the college to rescind the offer.
it was in the hospital that i received a tear stained letter from mr. lewis 'you tried, god bless you you tried.'
it has taken months of therapy. i began again, like a baby, three steps down, three steps down but with the aluminum below my knee i learned. i began to jog began to thrust my knees towards the heaven, kiss my buttocks with my heel again. the wind kissed my cheeks and ears as i raced towards imagined finish lines. i raced alone under the cover of night where no one could tell me no. i raced for her. my mother still motionless, her heart beating her heart waiting her body waiting to come back there was still more races to run.
so i am here, so i am running neck and neck for a second chance. the mighty gunderson. the hero of oregon track. i am running, straining metal against leg against ground i push and grunt and lean. i can hear his breath, can hear it and imagine mr. johnson his voice, 'later fool' before the black before i started over. the mighty gunderson begins to slip away, behind me and when i break the tape i can't hear them cheer, when i break the tape i keep going, i keep going in my tattered almost too small united states track suit. i can't see the new record as i keep going running two more miles running up the stairs running towards room 1324 where a woman is supposed to be in a coma.
'we'll get that son of a bitch yet.'
and i stop.