Saturday morning, September 27, I found myself in a place I did not expect to be. Along with 99 other runners and walkers, I was inside the Summerfield, North Carolina fire station. We were patiently waiting for the ninth running of the Stop, Drop, and Roll 5K.
My wife and I were in town from Richmond, Virginia. By chance, I learned of the 5K from our oldest daughter who lives in Summerfield. Just after lunch on Friday, I registered for the 5K. Late that afternoon, I picked up my race packet at the fire station.
With a gentle rain falling over Summerfield, inside the station where shiny red firetrucks are normally parked was a good place to be. Participants wandered around the large open space. Some stretched, most chatted, and a few firefighter chefs watched over the last moments of cooking their famous chili. The chili was to be a post-race treat.
At 8:45, there was a kids fun run —a hundred yard dash around the fire station. With their youthful energy and spirit, it didn’t take long for for these sprinters to cross the finish line.
Old man that I’ve become, I made sure my bladder was content before heading toward the start line. After the playing of the national anthem, the race director gave the participants our final instructions.
With a blast from an airhorn, we were off. We made a right turn out of the fire station and headed toward the driveway in front of Summerfield Elementary School.
Past the school, we made a left turn and worked our way to the entrance of Summerfield Community Park. We followed an asphalt trail.
Peppered with wet fall leaves, the splotching of this surface reminded me of kindergarten students gluing seasonal fall colors to the frame of a paper tree.
Antique that I am, I slowed my already slug pace on the downhill stretches. Coming out of the park, we were on a road that ran behind the elementary school. Eventually it took us through a neighborhood of homes before we hit a turn around spot where there was a water stop.
Along the way, orange traffic cones and volunteers marshaled the course. Some were students who were members of the Civil Air Patrol.
A few of these students were energetic with their encouragement as they blasted away on their kazoos and shouted out “you got this!”Proceeds from the 5K are going to help this organization.
Running close to me was a young mother who was pushing a stroller with her daughter tucked away from the raindrops. Sometimes, she would pass me, and sometimes I would pass her.
As we prepared to re-enter the park, I veered to the next left turn too soon. This kindhearted lady noted my mistake, and cordially shouted out to me “wrong way!” I quickly corrected my steps.
From past experiences, I know events like this don’t happen without volunteers. Working my way back to the finish line, I called out to the volunteers thanking them for being out on the course.
Heading out of the park, walkers and runners are greeted with one final challenge—a steep hill. With steady determination, I chugged up the incline.
Back at the elementary school driveway, the three mile sign marker came into view. Now, I had one tenth of a mile to go. Like a horse sensing the closeness of the barn, my old body picked up the pace, and I crossed the finish line.
While the chili cast a tempting aroma, I opted for a bottle of water and some orange wedges.
I sought out the mother with the stroller who corrected my turn. I thanked her. She gave me a high five, and said your welcome.
In America today, a person will make a wrong turn. For some that turn might become a tragedy.
On Sunday, September 28, Americans received more devastating news.
Late on Saturday evening, in Southport, North Carolina, a man killed three people and wounded five in an attack on a popular waterfront restaurant.
Then on Sunday, a gunman killed four and injured eight on an attack of a church in Grand Blanc, Michigan.
In these too frequent American tragedies, I always wonder what pushes the attacker to make such a devastating choice? I want to know if someone could have changed the attacker’s decision to harm innocent people?
The book, “Somebody Told Me,” is a collection of newspaper stories written by Rick Bragg. In writing about the 1995 Oklahoma City bombing, Bragg hears these words from people he interviewed: “This doesn’t happen here.”
America, we have work to do.
Our challenge is to help people from making those wrong turns.
“This doesn’t happen here,” must become a reality.
might be baloney 