As a child I saw a movie that depicted a battle between two Indian tribes. In this battle a senior member of one tribe drove a stake into the ground and affixed a 15-foot length of rawhide from the stake to his ankle. The warrior would battle any enemy who came within his 15-foot radius, and would fight to the death rather than run. I’ve always interpreted the practice as a statement of commitment, bravery, and honor. The movie depicted the younger warriors scoffing at the old warrior and his out-dated code of conduct. Presumably this was in the days of hand-to-hand combat and preceded firearms.
For years I’ve been captivated by the depiction, and wondered if the custom had some historical basis. The invention of the internet makes such an inquiry easy nowadays, and I have found references to the Cheyenne, Sioux, Lakota, and Mandan tribes.
When I run a road race I am mentally pulled back to this old movie and the old Indian warrior custom.
During a race I often I find myself scanning the people around me and trying to determine which, if any, are in my age group and need to be engaged, and beaten if possible. Some of my running buddies simply think you should run your best in every race regardless of who is close by, and I mostly agree with them on that point, but there is something missing in that judgment.
Randy is a good friend and occasional training partner who runs in my age group and usually at my speed. We often find ourselves fighting it out for 4th place in our age group. If I see Randy 20 yards ahead of me in the race, or if I simply know that Randy is in the race, it makes a significant difference over some nebulous dude up ahead who has a touch of grey in his hair and may actually be 15 years my junior. If Randy is in the race I will summon every bit of energy and resolve I have in order to beat him and have bragging rights until the next time we race. In the case of the nebulous dude, it is difficult to summon the same levels of passion.
So here’s the thing. Several years ago I watched a triathlon at Stone Mountain Park and noticed that the participants had their age groups written with magic marker on the backs of their calves, and I thought, “Ingenious!” Why aren’t we doing this in road races so we know who we are competing with? Even if race organizers aren’t doing this, why aren’t I doing this? Why aren’t I, in effect, emulating the early Sioux Indians by writing my age group on my calf, or wearing a readable “60-64” on the back of my singlet?
I look younger than I am, or so I’ve been told. It seems dishonorable to slip by some old fart in the later stages of a race and not be challenged because he doesn’t think I am his competition. I certainly can’t waste oxygen telling my age to each elderly man I pass, or who passes me; they’d think I was nuts, and they’d be right. But, what about writing “60-64” on my calf and letting my fellow old farts know that we are at war? If I am the competitive SOB I pretend to be, I should put it all out there and engage these guys head to head, by figuratively tethering myself to a stake and driving it into the ground.
Maybe I’ll start a trend.
