Senior year,

High school baseball,

I am the third fastest on the team,

I am in my best shape ever,

My coach was not,

Coach looks like Fred Flintstone,

Long torso and short legs,

Arms that reached down to his knees,

A feat that was impressive for his stature,

And overweight to an almost comical degree.

One day the team was at practice,

Like every teenager,

We were the best,

And did not want to practice,

Coach made us run laps,

To start with,

I told coach,

“I am not running any laps while you sit and watch!”

I was very confrontational,

I was the best on the team,

Coach took the confrontation in stride,

Or as long as his short legs would go,

He ambled out onto the field,

Swaying to the left and right,

As he waddled up to me.

“Son,”

He called me son,

“If you can beat me in a foot race to the center pole in the outfield and back to home plate, 

I will not only do your laps, 

But the whole teams laps,

While you all sit back and watch me,

You lose,

You get to do the whole team’s plus your own. Deal?”

He held out his hand for a shake.

I looked at the hand,

I was weighing up his offer to his weigh,

I thought for sure that I could do it and make him run around all day.

I shook his hand.

On home plate,

Me and him lined up,

The whole team was cheering me on,

I was in my baseball uniform,

Wearing cleats,

Coach was in overalls and flip-flops,

This would be too easy I thought to myself.

The pitcher said go and I took off running,

By the time that I passed second base,

That fat, overweight coach of mine,

Zipped pass me and was well on his way to the outfield,

I was simply stunned by what I saw,

Fat Fred Flintstone zoomed by again,

Passed me again in the outfield,

As I was still making my way to center pole,

He was laughing as he passed by,

Barefoot and laughing.

The whole team laughed at my misfortune,

Everyone ran laps,

And I ran everyone’s and my own,

I may have been third fastest,

But Coach was first.