74.9 F
Charlotte Amalie
Tuesday, March 21, 2023


To have loved and lost is one thing, but to have a bright shiny trophy in your hand one minute and gone forever the next is quite something else. Ten brief minutes of glory. "That's all you get," one sage was known to say. Words to live by. Show biz. Whatever.
It all came about Sunday at the 17th annual Womens' Jogger Jam sponsored by the Fruit Bowl at Wheatley Shopping Center where about 200 females of varying ages were eagerly participating. For the first time this year I became one of these hardy souls.
It started off well enough, traipsing past the Roy Lester Schneider Hospital, on up to Fortress Storage, and a simple lope down by Lockhart School, around by the post office and back to the hospital entrance where I was given a tongue depressor. This signified completion of the first lap, where we were encouraged to do the whole thing all over again.
A tongue depressor. Was this a precursor of things to come? Evidently, from the way things turned out.
I charged up San Juan hill shouting "Bully" to one and all. No, that's not right. At this point I think either the heat or the tongue depressor was getting to me. Finally in the distance I saw the twinkling traffic lights of the hospital intersection, a sight I have never before found so appealing. And, at last, the finish — cheered on by throngs of thousands. Actually, that may not be accurate. The accurate part is what we are getting to, sort of.
Here we were, all finishers glistening in our damp splendor, grouped around the announcer back at the Fruit Bowl awaiting the awards. What beautiful words, what joy, what….?? "Second place to Molly Morris," the voice continued, placing me in a fuzzy age group too frivolous to mention.
Humbled and dazed by this modest feat, I wandered around the parking lot wildly waving my trophy while graciously accepting the accolades flying at me right and left. I maintained this posture for about 10 minutes, until I heard another announcement: "Those of you holding trophies, please come to the front."
It seems there had been mistakes in the timing. Many mistakes in all six categories. I was a mistake. Alas.
I honorably handed back my beautiful gold and blue trophy. The judges were apologetic. I was apoplectic. But I covered it well -– some folks never get the 10 minutes. Perhaps I should have kept the tongue depressor.

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