My buddy DC, who I’ve written about a great deal in this blog, is a running machine. Sixty-one years old – forty two straight years behind bars – and not an ounce of fat on him. Every day, no matter what the weather, DC runs twenty-five to thirty laps. He turns those almost seven miles in under fifty-two minutes. Like I said, he’s a machine.
Then
there’s Omar, my Spanish tutor. He trains every day with weights and cross-fit
workouts. He’s the one guy on the compound who legitimately could compete in a
cross-fit competition. He’s short and compact and reminds you of football
Hall-of-Famer Emmitt Smith. His personal best time just broke fifty-eight
minutes. Not too shabby for a thirty-six year old.
Then
there’s me. Fifty-four and – amazingly in better shape than I was twenty years
ago. I run four days a week, lift weights three. This morning, I broke
fifty-five minutes for the first time. That it took a prison sentence to remind
me how much I love running and how free running makes me feel is one of the
ironies of my incarceration. Freedom. I told DC about a made for TV movie that was on twenty or so years ago. “The Jericho Mile” told the story of a wrongly convicted man sent to prison. The prison, with its stark high red brick walls, looked like Attica, or Sing Sing, or Shawshank. The man, played by Peter Strauss, had been a track star in college. Prison was a merciless place and Strauss’s character struggled to remain safe and sane in the nightmare that was his life inside.
There was the track. No one ran at the prison. The track, potholed and worn, just was there, like so many of the men who sat and stared and watched their lives ebb behind the brick walls. Strauss’s character went out one day and, with old, cheap, prison-bought sneakers, began to run. Over and over he ran and he kept his times. An interesting thing happened. His old rhythm returned. He was running the mile like he did in college.
A local reporter picked up the story and soon everyone was wandering, could the convict set the record for the mile? The other inmates at the prison began to notice as well. As the runner sat in chow, his fellow inmates began to load him up with fruit and vegetables from their trays. They repaired the track. A new pair of track shoes mysteriously made their way inside. And he ran; only now he was running for every man inside who had a dream of a life outside.
As with any good story, there’s heartbreak. The prison track wasn’t certified by the racing board. There would be no chance at the world record. That couldn’t be the end of the story…
My experience in here has taught me human beings have a remarkable ability to make a complete mess of their lives and do horrendous things but – and I’ve come to realize it’s the but that ultimately matters – they also have the ability to be enormously courageous, kind, and hopeful.
Strauss’s character, alone on the track with stopwatch in hand, begins to run. And the men on the yard stop and watch and soon begin to cheer. Two laps down and his stride and breathing are in perfect harmony. Lap three and the ache in his lungs reminds him he is in the flow. Finally, lap four and he stretches and pushes and makes the last turn and the yard erupts with cheers and men rush toward the track.
At the finish, with a hush falling over the other inmates, he looks at the watch and a smile takes over his face; and then he heaves the watch over the fence … “And the Lord told Joshua: and when you hear the sound of the trumpet, all the people shall shout with a great shout; and the wall of the city will fall down flat …”
Freedom. Sometimes freedom is all in your mind, like when it’s thirty degrees outside and three runners make their way around the track and other men shout “you can catch him Larry” or “Kick DC, kick.” Running free. “Joshua fought the battle of Jericho, and the walls came tumbling down.”
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