What I See with Peter Fiorenza: Good and bad memories of school athletics season resurface this time of year

About this time every year, there’s a bit of a skip in my heartbeat. Why? Well, it’s school athletics season. That time of year when the smell of fresh lawn clippings fills the air, along with the sound of starter’s pistols and announcers’ voices. Even though I love my sport, I’m certainly no athlete. But you could say, once upon a time, I was a budding runner. For some reason, in my last year of primary school I started to excel, perhaps influenced by a bit of a growth spurt. Not intending to have any impact, I tried out for a few sprint events, and due to some good trials was catapulted into the A-division. For me, just being in this company was pretty special, but when I took out both the 100m and 200m boys’ events, I truly was surprised. I could have walked away with that from the day more than satisfied, knowing I had achieved something I never would have dreamed of However, there was still more of this story yet to unfold. Following my success, I headed for the drinks van. Serving was a past student who told me my running exploits saw me vying for the Champion Boy trophy, with a couple of others, “I won’t win that”, I commented. I was not entered in any more events. “Why don’t you compete in the 400?” “No, I’m done,“ I said. But with some subtle convincing from my faction team teacher, I decided to have a go. Remember, my achievements on the day, to this point, were not consistent with past performances. Running had not really been my thing until this stage. I had no idea how to properly prepare for a race, or know any technique. How do you run a 400m race? Lining up at the start, I was more than nervous and when the pistol sounded and the crowd cheered in unison, I set off in much the same way as I had in my previous events — flat out. As I neared the 200m bend I could see I was holding the lead, if only ever so slightly. I could feel my heart pounding harder and harder in my chest. I was breathing so hard it was hurting. I looked up and could see the finish line in the distance. Oh my, I was almost there. Suddenly, I could hear loud, fast breathing behind me, the other runners were making their move. I dug in deep, but my legs were starting to wobble, gee this was getting hard. “Push harder Pete push harder.” I was almost there, when suddenly I became unbalanced and my body tumbled over and hit the dirt. And in what seemed slow motion, I saw another boy pass me by and cross over the line. With one last surge I pulled myself up and finished the race — second. Alas, no Champion Boy trophy for me Peter Fiorenza hosts Fiorenza on Sunday between 10am and noon on Radio MAMA