The two main reasons for my success in sports have been my speed and my effort. My quick feet come in handy in most athletic events and give me an edge over most of my competition. My diehard effort and reckless disregard for my body’s well-being have also been helpful. I wouldn’t call it Napoleonic syndrome, but I have always figured that because of my short stature I had to try harder than most people to be successful in sports. I learned how to push myself to my limits and make my body go beyond its normal capacity. I often threw up in track or football because I would run until my lungs felt like they were going to explode, and then I would spew chunks to relieve the throbbing pressure. I have continued to play through broken hands, concussions and strained muscles. After the competitions are over, my body often thanks me for my efforts by slumping into a painful vomiting mess.
These two things, effort and speed, combine together to make me quite good at running track. Although it was never my favorite sport, I have to admit that it was my best sport. I was very good in high school and dominated until I decided to quit my senior year. I haven’t really done any racing since, but I have been able to use my speed in recreational sports and recently in rugby.
The Track & Field race in Fefan is kind of a big deal. In fact, it is probably the most important event on Fefan during the entire year. I am not exaggerating. Everybody is passionate about this island wide event. In the weeks preceding, kids missed school and failed tests with the excuse that they were practicing for the track meet. I was amazed to see the dedication and devotion towards this running showcase. Most people were doing two-a-day practices for months to prepare for the meet. The mayor granted an administrative holiday and cancelled school for Thursday and Friday. My island has a population of about 2000 people. Well over 1000 people attend this event each year. It is talked about year round and is the largest gathering on the island.
Needless to say, I was very confident about my chances at this upcoming track meet. My family had sent me track spikes and my Uncle Mike and Auntie Gail sent me track shorts that arrived the day before the events. I had not trained extensively for the competition like the other islanders, but still felt that I was going to be very successful. My biggest concern was my injured leg. After I was told about the track meet and urged to start training, I began to jog in the mornings and practice running with the group in the afternoons. However, I strained my quad in mid December and couldn’t sprint. My leg was healthy for about 3 days before I hurt my hamstring in the basketball game. This was two weeks before the track meet. I repeatedly tested the strength of my leg but was unable to sprint or practice running at full speed. All I could was simply jog and try to work off some of the Spam fat that I have accumulated over the last few months.
Up until the day before the race, I was still unable to run at full speed and just stretched compulsively. However, on race day I was ready to go and felt that I could conquer the world. I went to sleep early the night before, stretched extensively, drank plenty of water and ate a boatload of bananas.
In the morning, I piled into a little boat with a group of other runners and zipped over the village of Sapotaw where the races were being held. We arrived at the stadium and saw our names on the Jumbo-tron as the Blue Angels flew overhead. Just kidding. There is a lack of flat land on these little islands and it is difficult to find a place big enough to hold a track meet. A field of eight-foot grass was chopped down to create a makeshift track. The track was oblong shaped and miniature size, one lap was only 200 meters rather than the standard 400 meters. The surface was an uneven combination of rock, mud, coral, grass and dirt. It wasn’t the running conditions that I was used to back in America, but I was happy to see that they at least had a relatively flat place for us to run.
There were five teams competing in the games. One representing each major village group on Fefan and one representing the small neighboring island of Parem. UFO was clad in yellow, Sapotaw in blue, Fadhip in green, Saporeh in red and Parem in white. I wore a white Sigma Pi jersey and was proud to be representing UCLA. Although I live in UFO, I was running for Parem because my host mother is from there. Actually most of my village of Ununno was running for Parem because we have lots of family connections and the UFO team was almost overfilled with people from the villages of Fongen and Onongoch. The teams all gathered together and encircled the track for opening ceremonies. It was quite a sight to see this rainbow of colors surrounding the little dirt track under the blazing sun. I was very impressed to see the throngs of people that were in attendance and the noisy excitement that was permeating through the crowd.
Track meets in America are infamous for being behind schedule and sometimes can fall a half hour behind schedule. In Chuuk, time is only a mere suggestion and I assumed that the schedule would be only mildly adhered to. I was right. It started two hours late and by the afternoon, the pre printed schedule had no relevance to what was actually happening. I just tried to pay attention and ask a lot of questions to get an idea of what was going on.
Due to my hurt leg, I only signed up to run one event the first day. The 100 meter dash. The 100 meter dash is the quintessential track and field event and is considered the best measure of the fastest person in the world. Following suit, the 100 meter dash was the most important event at these games and the winner was considered the champion of the meet. This wasn’t my best event in high school, but I still won numerous races and felt that I could make a good showing here in Fefan. I stretched my leg religiously and warmed up in a similar fashion to what I remember from high school.
Before the day began, I made some rough calculations in my head about my chances at success in the race. Woodbridge high school was an average sized American school of about 2000 people. Coincidentally, that is the same as the population of Fefan. However, only about a third of these people are between the ages of 15-30, which put them in the range of competitive runners. And only half of them are men. So I figured that at most, I was in a pool of about 400 males to compete against. This made me very confident. In high school, even as a freshman I was in the top five fastest people in the school. By the time I was a senior and in my peak physical condition, I was maybe the fastest guy in the school and one of the fastest in the Irvine. By my simple calculations of odds, I should also be in the top five fastest people here in Fefan. Actually following my calculations, it is statiscally feasible that I could be the fastest man on Fefan!
I lined up at the starting line and did a final series of hops and stretches to get mentally prepared to run. I crouched down on one knee, rose up slightly and held by breath and awaited the “Tweeeet”. The man to left got out to quicker start than me and after about 20 meters he stuck out his right arm and blocked me from passing him. I ran as fast as I could and tried to make my gimpy left leg burn through the pain. But to no avail. I never caught the man’s outstretched arm and narrowly got passed at the finish line to end up with a third place in race with just 5 people. I placed third in 1 of 8 heats. That means I ended up twenty something in the overall standings. I was shocked. Not only by the cheating maneuver of the winner, but much more so about my poor performance. As I walked back to my Parem group of fans, they had prepared a cheer for me and yelled in joy incessantly as I approached. One lady ran out on the track and danced in front of me as the others sang a chant about “Aat en Merika”, Boy from America. They were ecstatic that I did so well, little did they know that I was mentally crushed by my defeat.
I had the goal of being the champion and placing first overall, but I didn’t even make it out of the first round. One of my friends from Ununno placed first in his heat, which was great, but I was a little disappointed because I had repeatedly beaten him in races over the last month when I had been healthy. My loss can be contributed to a number of factors. Only running with one leg, an arm blocking my path, particularly fast guys in my heat, my fat that I had gained over the last few months, but mostly my shabby lungs and aging muscles that have been out of serious practice for the last 6 years.
The next day my expectations had dropped slightly, but I still hoped for a day of redemption. I wore a shirt from Jamaica that said “No Problem” and figured that it was a good slogan to follow. I came to realize that this Track & Field meet was not about me. It was about the community. It was about the people here on Fefan. It is the only serious sporting event that they have year round and it is the one time when young athletes can thrive. I am only a visitor. Only a guest. Win or Lose, “No Problem”
The second day had only a couple of individual events, but was mostly comprised of various relays. Although I was faster than many of my teammates, I didn’t want to steal any of their glory and did not ask to be placed in any of the relays. Only a limited number of people can run and I felt it was important that everyone get a chance. Also, there are cash prizes for each race and many people are extremely motivate by these monetary incentives. In each race, 1st place got $8, 2nd place $5, 3rd place $3, and 4th place $1. The money was not a big concern for me. In fact, I just bought ice cream for little kids with all my winnings.
I simply asked to run the one lap race, which was 200 meters and my most successful distance in my track career. I thought I was only going to run the individual race, but before one of the relays my name was called to run with one of the groups. Things suddenly got quite confusing.
I heard my name called in a list of Chuukese babble and went to go grab my shoes. When I returned with my spikes, I was told by somebody that I actually wasn’t racing. I didn’t mind too much and handed my spikes off to a friend to borrow. Then another person came up and told me that I was going to race, but in the second heat. I took back my spikes and stood in line with a group of guys. Suddenly, people were yelling my name and demanded that I come out on the track. Apparently I was running in the first heat. And I was the first runner. I walked up to the starting line without warming up or stretching and grabbed the baton. However, the official came by and did a spike check. I guess in the races around the track, it is illegal to have the spikes screwed into your shoes. So I ran over to grab the tool to despike my shoes. As I was unscrewing the spikes, another man passed by and told me that I would just run later. I assumed that jut meant that I would run in the second heat, so I sat down and idly started to take out my spikes. I watched the first few runners and cheered for my team as I worked on my shoes. The fourth runner on our team came to end of his lap and there was nobody to hand the baton off to. That nobody was me! They yelled my name and I jumped up with only one shoe on. I slipped the other shoe on my foot and zipped out onto the track. I ran as fast as I could and tried to make up the gap that was created by my absence, but it was no use. I ran through the finish line and we placed 4th. Lack of communication, confusing directions, and unfortunate circumstances led to an embarrassing baffle that was centered around my pasty white legs running around the track.
I was forgiven for my mistake and it was generally agreed that it wasn’t really my fault. Nobody mentioned anything to me in English or Chuukese that I was supposed to be running in that race. Nonetheless, I still looked like an idiot and blew it big time.
I still had one more chance at doing something great and making up for my previous follies. The 200 meter race was coming up soon. About a half hour before the race, dark clouds from the east descended overhead and dropped torents of rain on the thousands of track enthusiasts. It didn’t stop the action for long, but the track was severely changed. The dirt turned to mud, and puddles of water spotted the oval surface. It wasnt going to stop us though.
In this final race, I learned a few things about running track in Micronesia. There are a few elements that don’t exist in the American version of the sport. One is the condition of the track. Muddy, slippery, rocky, oddly shaped laps are the norm. At least a dozen people fell on their faces in the middle of races. There are also no lanes. The strategy is more similar to nascar than to a standard track race. Swerving in front of your opponent and fighting to hug the corners are expected. Flying elbows, shirt grabbing, outstretched arms, and tripping are also ok. During the two days of running I saw intentional tripping, grabbing of legs, elbows to the face, and cutting the corners of the track. All of these things make track and field a hell of a lot more fun to watch. But they make it much harder to run.
I shot out from starting line and ran about 20 meters before hitting the first mudpuddle at the turn. We were forced to swing wide and all jockeyed for position on the first turn as I narrowly avoided an elbow to the face. I made the turn in 3rd place and took off on the backside straightaway expecting to catch up. However, it was slippery and I never got up to full speed. The final turn was a doozie. The five runners were in a tight bunch and hit the turn at the same time. This was the muddiest spot on the track and we all slowed to a balancing position with both arms at our side to keep standing. I was gaining on the leader and was neck and neck with the 3rd place guy when I felt a tug on my shirt. The very tall last place runner grabbed my shirt and pulled me back. I put out my arm to avoid being thrown behind him also and we engaged in a vicious struggle for the advantage. We elbowed each other back and forth and fought for every inch. I edged him out at the finish line, but ended up in another disappointing placement. 4 out 5 runners in 6 heats. Once again, I was proven to be just mediocre.
My disappointing sporting outings taught me a few important lessons. First off, I am actually starting to notice that I am getting older. My muscles get sore and can be easily strained. I need to stretch extensively before engaging in any physical activity. I am not in my peak physical condition anymore. If I were a professional athlete, I would be in my prime at 24. But since I am just a lazy lounger, I can safely say that my physical prime passed me at about the age of 18.
Secondly, Chuukese are really fast. My odds making expectations were extremely off. These people can run. A lot faster than boys back in southern California. I have to give credit to their rigorous training regiment and natural born speed. Although I was slightly injured and chubbier than usual around the midsection, they bested me fair and square.
Thirdly, it is good to remind myself that I am simply a visitor these foreign lands and I should not be overly competitive about kicking ass in sports. I am not here to take the glory of the locals or prove my prowess amongst them. I should be happy just being part of recreational sports and enjoying the fun of physical activity.
That being said, I should admit that I do plan on dominating on the basketball court and being the champion of the track meet next year.
Amen, Johnson. We're gettin' oooolllld, buddy.
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