THE PLODDER
A runner testifies: Cecil Lampert was my inspiration. He was the poorest runner on the cross country team. But he always kept me going. Cecil consisted of some wired-together skin and bones, and he huffed along as if each step would be his last. But he never quit. As I suffered along the miles, it wasn’t the opposition ahead nor the team members beside me that kept my legs moving. It was an occasional backward glance at Cecil, who kept plodding on. He always sounded exhausted, and by contrast I felt fairly zippy. What’s more, my ego just wouldn’t permit me to finish behind generally-last place Cecil. I never thanked my skinny friend for his inspiration, but in truth I would have quit several races if it had not been for his dogging presence.
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