The Race

By Kutoli N

THE RACE

When I was four years old, I was a self-proclaimed wimp. An ‘eloquent’ wimp.

I could race anyone with my mouth. It was not an exaggeration to say that what began as a trail of babble at 1 had matured into an Olympic level talker by 4. In the colony where my family resided, my prowess was uncontested. Not unusually, everybody’s grandma loved me and wanted me for company. But that was as far as all my earthly talent ended. Nobody wanted me on their sports and athletics team. I was a wimp. Period.

Mom was the first to point it out to me. It was I who made sure I lived upto her observation. Her words were probably well meant and should have pushed me to better myself. However, I was already 4 and all too aware of my own inadequacies. If Achilles had his heel, I had my tiny weak body- or so I reasoned.

Oh I knew about Achilles, alright?!

Dad loved to tell us wonderful hair-raising stories from his mental library. I must say it was a vibrant place. If one day was about the once small, slavish tribesmen, the Israelites crossing the Red Sea, the next was about Hercules or the unassuming Buddha or even our very own tribal Ikki. All of us never ceased to wonder what next Dad would conjure up out of his memory bag. For an ardent Christian, my dad did not shy away from presenting tales of other religions, culture, and lands. We, his children, could not be more thrilled by his menagerie of tales. That is where I had found Achilles and his heel. And Bambi too…now that one will come later though.

In Achilles, I found great comfort and even a sinister pride in my wimp-hood. If a superman had a weakness, I as a mere 4 year old was entitled to my own too. I wore it like a bright beaming badge wherever I went. I was a 4 year old ‘self-assured’ wimp.

At home and around my neighbourhood, my reputation as a wimp was already formidable. However, at school it was a well-disguised secret. This is where the story becomes interesting.

It was sports day at my nursery school that day. Naturally, anything that required a show of strength, agility or speed was alien to my nature. I patted myself on the back as I slid way back into the corner of the classroom. Little did I suspect that I had been sighted by an eagle-eyed teacher. Unaware, I had just squirmed my way through a maze of other kids to take my present position behind the tallest kid in my class.

“Timothy, please step aside and let Lisha come up to the front here.” The eagle-eyed miss gently called out.

My hair stood up on their shoulder-length ends. My own heart racing filled my ears like a tribal drum roll. I felt numb and chilly all at once.

“Go on.” Timothy said looking behind at me. He had to clear the path for the second time because I had unconsciously followed him like his shadow.

After a long wait, I finally made a move. I was still in shock but had been slightly awakened by Timothy’s loud smirk at my obvious show of fear. I was a wimp but I was not going to let some tall kid laugh at me. With decidedly short steps I finally reached the front.

“I think you will run well. You have bright eyes. I am choosing you to represent our section in the 200 metres dash.”

My ears failed to register what they had just heard. Eventually, they did. What did bright eyes have to do with running anyway?! I found myself defensively stepping back and pushing against the blackboard in weak objection. How I wished the huge blackboard would swallow me up that instant!

I screwed my eyes shut hoping it was all a sinister dream from the very depths of the abyss. The tithers in the background proved otherwise. The entire class was mimicking Timothy’s expression now.

I looked up at my would-be punisher who had incited all this as if to say, “It is your doing.”

I was surprised to catch her eyes. She wasn’t smirking like the rest. Miss had encouragement written all over her. Her wink caught me just then.

“I shall run beside you.” She whispered.

Like that was some comfort to me!

Ours was a big school in our town. We had four sections in nursery and every one of them had sent a competitor. At the line-up I studied them. All taller than me by atleast a head. I especially noticed their Bambi like limbs. Yes, dad had told us about Bambi and her mom too and I had been quick to ask him why they had long, thin limbs.

“For agility and speed,” Dad had promptly replied.

The tiny flicker of hope that I would at least not come last was snuffed out there and then! Being a wimp I had already become obsessed with the fear of coming last and hence, had come up with a coping plan to beat the slowest person so I would not have to do the walk of shame into the classroom later on. Victory was never foremost on my mind but losing was suddenly imminent.

Perspiration beaded around my forehead as preparations were being made to flag off the race. My legs began to warn me that they would give up on me to save themselves. “Treacherous fiends”… I found myself silently screaming at them.

Within seconds I beheld a smoky trail in front of my eyes. Caught unaware by my belated talk with my limbs, I had failed to register the whistle. It was not smoke but the trail of dust my competitors had left behind as they skipped away leaving me to taste dusty defeat prematurely.

I was going to lift my hands in surrender and walk away when my eagle-eyed miss sprang up on me.

“What are you waiting for? GO GO GO!!”

Where my legs had failed earlier, my mind went into auto mode on registering the command. I was actually running now.

“Good! Don’t look at them ahead of you. Just run. I’m right beside you.”

Miss certainly looked funny as she ran beside a nursery race line. She was not allowed inside the track so she was running outside it. Everyone watching was laughing at the funny sight of an adult partaking in a children’s race. But she did not care.

My petite legs grunted as they exercised their usually lax muscles and tendons.

“Yay! I can actually run”, I thought to myself. I could even spare my miss a shy smile as I ran with her in tow. Yes, she was running at my pace.

Even if I had come last, at least I was not a quitter. So I thought as I gathered my tattered dignity. I slowed down as I reached towards the end of the track.

Only wait… The others were racing back to the starting point!

Wasn’t the race already over? I looked frantically at my miss for some support.

“It is a 200 metres race love. You have to run back to the starting point to finish the distance.”

Wham! The news hit me like a bucket of ice-cold water in December. I had used my last ounce of strength to reach that far. Hearing my miss’s announcement, my body began to surrender to the sensation of losing. Tears of defeat streamed down my red, plump cheeks. I was about to sit down on the dusty track in an ultimate show of surrender when I heard her speak to me again.

In a gentle but firm voice, I heard her say,

“Darling, losing is no shame but giving up is. I am not going back without you.”

The first line barely registered in my mind but the last line did. She still did not think me a wimp! And she wanted to still support me.

I was a wimp but even I understood encouragement and hope.

Hastily wiping away my river of tears, I made a last dash for the finish line with my miss. My ponytails began to swing to the rhythm of my running feet as my mind cheered me on. No longer tied down by the concern of victory or defeat, I could actually run swifter.

Amidst predominant cheers and jeers from an unfortunate few, my eagle eyed miss and I, we dashed to the finish line. We had taken so long that the winners were already propped up on the dais to receive their shiny tin foiled medals. Before I could look up at my miss, I found myself being hoisted up into her arms.

“You did not give up to the last. To me that makes you a winner!”

That day I took home no tin foiled medal. I reached home with red cheeks and swollen eyes. My legs were numb from over-exertion for I had never run a race in all my four years until that day.

Mom sportingly laughed as she heard my accounts of the impromptu race.

“Of all the people she could have chosen, she chose the tiniest one,” she added.

That set the wheels turning in my mind.

“Why did she choose me?” My mind began to ask over and over again until in between the cacophony of uncertainty and doubt, a tiny glimmer of hope appeared like a light being reflected from a glass shard. It swept my tsunami of doubts away.

No longer did knowing the ‘why’ matter to me. All that remained at last on my mind was an exulting, “didn’t she?!”

I slept like a log that night.

The next morning I looked forward to being at school like never before. How happy was I that my Miss liked me! That was all my 4 year old mind could understand.

Only years later would I belatedly realise the gem of a gift my eagle-eyed miss had given me. Hope and confidence was finally birthed in a wimpy heart.

The effect was gradual and only the most perceptive mind paying attention would have noticed. But it was tangible and I was never that same 4 year old wimp again. Little by little, I left behind my wimpy status for good.

Today if you see me in a school ground or a sports arena, you’ll know me instantly. Just look around for the one cheering loudest for the last person in any race.

By Kutoli N