Bombshells...

It was apparently a good day for an artillery barrage, or so it seemed in Oklahoma down near Lawton, where the Ft. Sill army base is located. Ann's first "real" track meet (meaning the first in Junior High) was held in a little bedroom community just 11 miles north of the base, on edge of the desert that is the great American Southwest.

Throughout the day, which began before 9:00 am, great booms shook the area of the asphalt running track, drawing everyone's gaze to the south to watch the tracers of smoke arcing over the horizon behind practice missiles playing at taking out serious enemies.

The missiles only added to our feeling of being surrounded by firepower. As Ann announced several days ago, this meet was billed by our new track coach as simply 'practice." Practice wasn't what I saw when I arrived at the site of the meet and couldn't find a place to park until I consulted an attendant policeman. Oklahoma is dotted with towns as small as ours but also supports a surprising number of bigger burgs, one of which is Lawton itself, the fifth largest city in our state. Imagine my surprise when I saw no less than six buses bearing the Lawton logo, obviously having carried Junior High track and field competitors from schools such as Lawton Eisenhower, Lawton MacArthur, Central Lawton, Lawton Sante Fe and Tomlinson, the famous black Lawton junior high that has provided early schooling to some of the University of Oklahoma's best running backs!

And that wasn't nearly the end of it. Walking through the crowd of kids and coaches approaching 500-strong, I acknowledged Moore Track and Field, the school they hailed from rivaling the largest in Oklahoma City. Blanchard, Duncan, Norman North, Madill and Altus...all decently sized, 4A to 6A schools with huge budgets, high school football TV contracts, Nike track spikes and glitzy warm ups. I could see speed in the eyes of the little black girls with personal coaches who gave wide berth to the stoic Indian girls waiting for a chance to make their mark. The boys were dark-skinned, clean-cut and seemed to be waiting, even at 13 to 15, for a call from college.

I heaved a sigh of relief when I noticed the yellow and black of the Riverside Indian School. They are roughly the same size as Alex, my secondary school alma mater and the school Ann attends. It was clear that the Longhorns (us) and the Warriors (them) were seriously outgunned. The Indians seemed to have the advantage because they at least had matching track warm-ups and suits. Our kids came in Wal-Mart wind pants and ran in generic, anonymous shirts made up in our school colors but bearing no school name, no competitor name and no number. I noticed that some of our kids wore pajama pants in the place of sweats. We were the smallest offering on the premises.

Alex brought only eight kids to this "practice." Under the endless Oklahoma sky, Spring temperatures finally burgeoning into the 40's as we started out, I wondered about this logic. Ann was the lone seventh grade girl from Alex, matched only by one seventh grade boy. The rest were older kids.

My breath was stolen by the early heats. Small, spry black girls seemed to fly over the dark track, racking up win after win in the 100 meter, relays from 200 to 400 meters and other sprints. They burst off carefully positioned blocks to run in tiny shorts, tight branded shirts and spikes filed sharp. How in the world could we compete?

Apparently the hurdles are a premier event. After consideration, I decided that this made sense to an ole gal whose high school mark was made mainly in team sports involving balls. Running, I can understand. Running and jumping at the same time has got to be harder, right? A roundballer in every way, I was interested in why the track coach was so high on Ann's ability to run and then jump. I kept my counsel, watched closely and was rewarded with understanding....

Ann ran the 100 meter hurdles in basketball shorts and the Nike running shoes I bought for myself a month ago. She liked 'em and didn't think she needed a new pair of spikes just yet. This meet was "practice" after all. With no prior speed data, the 100 meter hurdle heats were random draw and Ann ran in the second one. The more compact, smaller black girl who won the first heat in 16.2 seconds seemed to float unbeatable along the track, leaping each hurdle with an unbelievable grace and acing the short distance in less than the time it takes to shake your head in disbelief.

But I only felt that until I saw my own kid. Ann is tall and dark, and as it turns out, dangerous. I know her basketball potential but serious track and field is new ground for me. My jaw dropped when she, too, navigated the hurdles with unerring precision. Our small, inconsequential school registered an official second with Ann's 100 meter hurdle run in 17.1 seconds. Damn! I kept my eyes open.

"She's going to do what?" Her coach of only four weeks asked me when we talked after the hurdles.

"Long jump," I said, passing on the information Ann gave to me. "She loves to long jump. You know she won in the sixth grade." I wondered if I sounded like a fool, telling the coach something he should have already known.

Long jumping is pure sport. No balls, no equipment, the effort remains just the way Neanderthal girls must have done it: get a running start and juuuummmmmmmpppppppp from a predetermined mark into the sand. The coach looked skeptical when Ann launched only a 11' 11" jump on her first try. I explained to him that she likes to know where she stands and walked to the back of the line to measure off to her the distance to first place with my hands.

Her next jump went 12' 6" and the coach began to realize that she really could jump. Surprisingly, a wiry white girl from the town in which the meet was held wanted to challenge and did so admirably, tying Ann. They jumped again, both registering 12' 5". Damn, I was beginning to get into it. In the end, the judges had to go back to the first jump to determine a winner and the other girl's first jump was 12-0 to Ann's 11-11. Our tiny school took another second place, in the face of all the giants. But only by one small inch. :)

It wasn't until the meet was over that I understood the importance of the 300 meter hurdles. Another premier event, held in the last hours of the competition to showcase the ability of outstanding athletes. All I knew at the time, though, was that if my kid knocked down a hurdle and fell, I needed to be there to pick up the pieces. A lot could go wrong, I surmised. The race was almost a quarter mile.

Ann heated up in a field of black and red girls who looked bred to run and jump. The big schools strutted with confidence and ability, a couple of them setting out their starting blocks and stretching out in a way that seemed damned near professional to me. Ann crouched in her lane, no blocks but ready to run in the first heat. I thought of the nature of big dreams, so often unachievable.

But not this time. The gun cracked and the girls seemed like lightening, they struck so quick. I focused my video camera on the race but then dropped it to film only the ground, grabbing for my little Nikon. Ann, her tiny school riding on her shoulders, took the fore with the same inborn swiftness that made her Nanny cry the first time she saw Ann run.

And run she did, soaring over each spaced hurdle like the missiles fired just miles from the playing field, the look in her eyes seemingly beyond the small place she calls home. When Ann crossed the 300 meter finish line at 53.2 seconds, Lawton Ike and Lawton Mac were jumping two hurdles behind her. The city of Moore came in after them. Altus died, Norman went home a loser. Blanchard stood on in awe and Duncan felt respect. Riverside gave a standing ovation.

Ann took home two silvers and a gold. She medaled in each event she attempted, a small town girl doing well. She is proud. And I know much more about track and field!