Actually, they probably DO still talk about the White guy who won the big five mile cross-country race, against Africans, that was me. The biggest moment of glory in my life that didn't involve a woman
Pretty cool. They even made a move about that, didn't they?
Ya, sorta like that, and it was mostly downhill.
What happened was, with absolutely nothing else to do besides drink, I would go distance running most every afternoon in an old pair of Keds I found in the 'Bruni Wawu (Dead White Man) section of the local market.. Due to a lack of protein during a record dry season, this fell off to maybe six miles a day round trip out to the highway and back, all flat. Then, after two years I went home for a month for my brother's wedding and came back for my third year all proteined up, plus this is when Peace Corps started supplying us a box of 18 cans of tuna each month, which I would eat secretly in my room, one every other day (the locals shared everything). I came back a new man and I was ripping off the five miles uphill to the village of Adomfe (which translates to "up here it is nice:) no problem. Five miles up, five miles back, every day, got so I knew every patch of gravel to avoid, every patch of loose dirt.
About a month later they announced there was gonna be a sports day, including a five mile footrace down the mountain from Adomfe. The students asked me if I was gonna run, I said I was thinking about it and they would just break down in peals of laughter, they thought just being African made 'em like Kip Keno or something. Actually they were in great shape from barefoot soccer, but didn't run cross country. Different skills. Here's two of my students from back then to give folks an idea of the nature of the competition, it weren't gonna be a pushover regardless.
![[Linked Image from live.staticflickr.com]](https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50063767807_d0e2959f75_z.jpg)
Didn't occur to me until just now, but that's why I'm looking off to the left in my own photo, that's what they had you do back then.
So the big morning comes and we all pile into the beat up old Bedford truck that the school had, all the kids are laughing, on the way up the hill the other runners are making jokes. I didn't say anything, I knew exactly how long I had to run, felt like I knew every foot of ground along the way. We all climbed out on the main drag through Adomfe, the Ref is looking at his watch, we were to start at 8am exactly, the sun slanting through the huge silk cotton trees. Somebody had gotten a starter pistol (which may have been the reason for this whole event in the first place
). The other runners are stretching, jumping up and down, doing jumping jacks etc..... I was just pacing a good way off to the back, breathing and concentrating.
"Bang!" off they went, sprinting off down the hill. I was in the zone, in rythm, I knew exactly how hard to pace myself. Caught and passed them one by one over the first two miles, didn't even look at them, I was concentrating. The village of Wankyi (pron."Wenchi") half way down, hundreds of people gathered along the road. Who comes out of the forest first? The White guy, Obruni, by then I couldn't even hear any footfalls behind me. Didn't look, didn't care. Total stunned silence as the Obruni runs past and disappears down the hill, I didn't look at the crowd either.
Two miles later I clear the forest and head out on the loose, gravelly, uphill main drag through my village, 2,000 people lining the road. Stunned silence once again, broken by the occasion expression of astonishment (in Ghana you open your mouth, hold your open hand over it and say "ah...ah" or "shweh... shweh"). I'm pushing the pace now, I know the exact route to take up that stretch, not far to go.
Top of the hill and.... my school!
Three hundred students jumping up and down shouting "Meestar Mike! Meestar Mike!" The home stretch was to run around the soccer pitch, which I do with that joyous, chanting escort. I get on the far side round the top of the pitch, down to the last 100 yards. The first guy behind me has just got to the far end of the pitch.
Cue in "Chariots of Fire" and make everything slow motion. Two of the girls are holding up a string I gotta run through, I throw my arms out wide and I do so
I'm gonna guess that was in October. It was 1982, early in the dry season. I was there, that was me. The prize was a single can of evaporated milk, the sweet milk of victory, I chugalugged it right there, sweetest milk I ever drank......
Pretty much been downhill fer me ever since
and now I can't hardly run around the block.
