I have had a backache for about three months now. I don’t like to complain about things like this and I would never go to a chiropractor. Instead, I just endure the pain and when necessary, joke about it.
Most people don’t think such things are funny. But for some reason, I do. In the case of the back pain, I casually mentioned the problem to a friend of mine.
“What do you think is causing it?” she asked.
“I think my spine is finally growing back after I lost it in my last marriage.”
Go ahead and add a rimshot if you want. I would if these RobZerrvations were an audiobook. And some day they just might become one.
It was a similar conversation that conjured up the idea of the Baton Death March.
Now, I know that the real event was the Bataan Death March, or for my Chinese friends, Batān Shi no Kōshin (バターン死の行進. During it, 75,000 soldiers died.
This story has nothing to do with that horrific part of our history. Instead, it has to do with the relay race that has been going on for much of my life.
If you have ever been to a track and field event, then you know the relay race. Usually four racers on each team are involved, each running a leg of the race. Before they can start their part of the race, they have to get the baton. If they drop it, they have to pick it up. You can’t run the race and win without the baton in your hand.
I only recently got my baton back. It seems to have been passed on from one spouse to another for a time, often without my knowledge.
Now, it’s not that I didn’t want to carry the baton myself. After all, it was mine to begin with. Over the years, I have become quite fond of my baton. In my teen years, we spent endless hours together in intense training, knowing one day that we’d be called on to compete against others for the big prize, given to us by a woman who seemed to appreciate all the hard work we had done.
Now, I certainly remember running more than a few races in my time. I wasn’t always aware, however, that some of them were relay races. You’d think I would notice these things, that others were waiting in the wings to carry my baton and run for their life with my it in their hand.
I thought I was just running my own race. But before I knew it, my ex-whatever would be in front of me, beckoning me to hurry to her, using her wiles to increase my speed and performance.
I would finally reach them and inevitably, they would want me to hand off my baton. Now, as noted, I love my baton. Still, for some reason, I would hand it off to them without thinking. I would run right up beside them, and on cue, hand it off.
They, in turn, would roar off with it, gleefully knowing that they now had the power and could run their own race, leaving me in the dust.
And here’s where it always got a little screwy. Technically, they were supposed to continue around the big oval of a track, but they never came around again. It seems they just ran straight instead running their own race on their own track.
Suddenly, my baton was on an unchartered course. I knew that it was still mine, but I didn’t always know where it was.
In at least one case, it turned out that I had unknowingly entered into a marathon of sorts. Well, to be honest, a marathon is a bit of a wimpy race. Mine was actually a cross country event. It seems my baton was on a 3,000 mile race to Florida.
I hadn’t really trained for that type of event.
I was pretty happy handing off my baton on short distance events around Seattle. Now, I suppose I could have just let the baton go. But as I said, I’m kind of attached to it. So off I went, chasing after the baton in the hope that it would eventually be handed back to me so I could run the final leg.
Unfortunately, the woman who had run off with it to Florida, didn’t want to hand it back off to me. Instead, she wanted to keep it as a souvenir of her stunning victory. I swear she would have had it bronzed.
I can’t really blame her for parading it around and showing it off to everyone. It was a sweet victory for her. I probably would have done the same.
But I haven’t had my baton long enough to rub into someone else’s face. As soon as I get the it back, I readily hand it off to a new team mate. I know, you’d think by now I would just enter the solo events, ones that don’t even require the baton.
I don’t really want to go chasing after it again. But I think it will happen. It’s inevitable. Once it’s in someone else’s hands, you just know that the baton is going to end up leading you on a race of your life, or for your life, depending on who your teammate is.
Out on the Treasure Coast, trying to find my baton as we speak,
– Robb