Running Fast

Back in my Carpenter Street neighborhood, boys would dream of being fast. Really fast. Running like the wind fast. There was no future, in our minds, in being slow.

There was this kid, Otis, who lived across the street. He was fast. Lights out fast, as great athletes always are.

One day,

I asked Otis to teach me to run fast. He looked me up and down and finally agreed to be my personal speed coach.. To coax more speed out of my lanky carcass.

There was a straight, long, smooth sidewalk across the street. A kind of test track for footspeed. Otis said,"Now watch." Otis had the poise of an olympic sprinter in the blocks. I said "Go!" And Otis exploded straight away. A blur of speed. I observed that his hands and arms were pumping fast. To which, Otis said, "That's the secret to speed, Mon ami."

So,

I put my feet in the blocks, Otis yelled, "Go !", I was off. My hands and arms were windmilling all over the place. I finished the run. Otis looked at me warily. Maybe he couldn't teach me speed, after all.

Fast forward several years,

Otis became a Golden Gloves Champion. He was known for his lightning fast hands.

As it turned out,

I am still slow. But now I am thinking, maybe I can teach people my super power, to be slow!