Lane 8 jeff noel

So, in my infinite stupidity, a few moths of “training” later, I get the heat assignment. This time, there are no slow pokes in the race, unless you count me.

But, being an optimist and dreamer – with adrenaline coursing through my veins, the starter fires his pistol and we’re off.

Maybe 150 meters into it, early on the backstretch, POP!

The season is over. And right then and there, I promise to never ripe another hamstring.

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So You Think You’re Fast

Okay, so now my eyes are bigger than my stomach. And I think with a little focus, and a pair of track spikes, I can knock 5-7 seconds off my time of 62.5 seconds for 400 meters. Wow, if I could knock 5-7 seconds off, I’d be one of the Nation’s best age-group 400 meter runners.

This is a train wreck waiting to happen. Can you see where it’s going?

You have to remember, my feet haven’t seen track spikes in 25 years. Foretelling.

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