You're all singers, as am I. We're all other things too, and one thing that I am is a very informal long distance runner. This w/e I took part in my first race, a 20km one. I was well prepared, researched as much as possible, trained in a disciplined and enthusiastic manner, and finished in what I though was a reasonable time, fairly close to what I might have expected. It was hard work, and the euphoria after finishing was marvellous. For the first time in my life I experienced what must be commonplace to any of you who did high school track and field: passing runners who passed me earlier; being passed early or late in the race by patient souls who hadn't been swept up by the rather swift start. I saw other runners with quicker or longer strides than mine, but chose not to emulate them, but to do what I knew I could do. Originally I thought it might be possible to at least finish in the top half - well, as Race Day approached and I took another look at the sort of pace that was needed to do that, I got quite scared. After the initial rush of bodies I took great care to listen to my body and be mindful of the long steep hill coming up 2/3 of the way through the course. For a kilometre or so I ran alongside a heavyset man whose dog, (also with a race number!) accompanied him, eventually he pulled ahead and I never caught up with him again. Later I passed a crewcut young man who had charged past me earlier in the race with "It's the army way!" as his brave battle cry. The last hills weren't very big, but they were horrible - though they saved me from charging the last couple of kms, so I was able to finish the race in good form. Most of the field, not surprisingly, finished before me. I noticed, though, that the people who came in after me *still looked like athletes*, each in a contest more with themselves than with the lean, dedicated runner who won the race in only one hour and eleven minutes. But maybe I'm not competely off-topic: there are parallels in this world with that one. You don't have to sing at the Met to call yourself a singer. A tenor need not have a high C, but still be a tenor. The other person in the ensemble whose intonation was a bit shaky still has beauty of tone. The prima donna who made everyones' jaw drop was great, but so was the rest of the cast. And we train, and train. ANd what really makes a singer is also the willingness to take the trouble to just do it. john John Blyth Baritono robusto e lirico Brandon, Manitoba, Canada
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