A is for ATHLETE

God may have been generous in the gifts he gave to me, but the body of an athlete was not one of them, my frame being more suited to the rigours of a rugby match than exposure to a long, straight track down which I was meant to travel as fast as my legs would carry me. My 'career' in athletics was not to be the road to fame and fortune, nevertheless it was not without a total lack of success. My initial confidence was built at an early primary school sports day when victory in the sprint, across the local football club pitch for a distance some way short of one hundred yards would be followed by a further triumph in the egg and spoon, before the days of blutac. Further achievements in the blue ribband event and intermittent success in the sack race were enough to guarantee that I moved to secondary school, with more than a little hope of adding to my trophy cabinet. Alas, it was not to be for I soon discovered more finely tuned athletes than myself, all of whom exemplified the Olympics motto of 'faster-higher-stronger' and what's more, were all prepared to train to be even faster, higher and stronger. Still, mine was not a totally hopeless case and I soon realised that, for any athlete, when winning is beyond possibility, you then compete against yourself to improve what you've done before . So, with all the enthusiasm of a football team striving for a play-off place, I kept going, first in the sprint, then diversifying into the long, triple and high jumps, before attempting the hurdles, but my stride pattern was seriously hampered by the shortness of my legs and the exasperation of watching others move further into the distance. By this stage, I had already persuaded mum to part with a few pounds of grocery money so that I could own a pair of 'spikes', essential footwear for running on grass. I had also hastily constructed, in the front garden, a high jump, consisting of lengths of baler twine from the hay shed, tied together and attached to a couple of reasonably robust fencing posts that dad hadn't noticed to be missing. There was no landing mat except for the hard ground but I reckoned that the height of the 'bar' would never leave me with too great a fall, should I manage to clear it. And despite the lack of ideal conditions, it served the purpose well. Until the day, after creating a new personal best in front of three dogs, a cat and a pet rabbit, I somehow managed to land with one of my spikes embedded in my other ankle. I think the pain, the blood, the horror on mum's face and subsequent days off school,finally convinced me that cricket was a more sensible option during the summer term!

Paul, writing to the Hebrews, says, 'let us throw off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles, and let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us.' The wonderful thing about this race is that everyone who keeps going until the end, wins the prize, not just the fastest, highest or strongest for there is no favourite in God's race, just runners with their eyes fixed on Jesus. Don't be discouraged if you see others ahead of you nor deride those still behind. It's only about how YOU finish, so keep running.