Humor: Stairway to sack race heaven

Stairway to sack race heaven

My son Jack, 5, suggested the other day that it would be nice if he and I did some sack racing together.

Sack racing?
Oh yes, I remember it now.
Gee whizz, though, I have not participated in a sack race for more than 30 years.

The sack race was one of the staples of father-son athletic carnivals in my early years at school; together with egg-and-spoon races and three-legged races.
We used old hessian potato sacks, which we would slip into like giant socks and propel ourselves by hopping towards a distant finish line, stumbling and falling over as the crowd, not necessarily that large, roared with laughter.

I am very surprised that sack racing has never gained entry into the Olympics.
Sacks would surely add new interest to the 100m sprint and 3000m steeplechase.

Forget "name" running shoes.
Forget skin-tight running suits adorned with the name of your backer.
Think of the sponsorship opportunities for sack manufacturers.
All that advertising space!

I cannot imagine that the old hessian potato sacks of my youth would prevail though.

Think something space age.
Think ultra light.
Think all the colours of the rainbow.
Think extra strong material so you cannot poke holes in the bottom of the sack with your running spikes.
Think about how good it would be to hop on to the top of the Olympic dais in your trusty sack, thus gaining international television exposure for your sponsor and a probable extension of your million-dollar contract, and receiving your gold medal.

Er, um, er ... I am getting ahead of myself here, aren't I?

"How do you know about sack races, anyway?" I asked Jack.

"I saw it on TV," he said.

"When?" I said, suspiciously.

"I don't remember," he said.

I have a reason for being suspicious.

It is Father's Day in Australia next month and, according to a newsletter from Jack's school, his class is planning something special.
"Keep Wednesday, 29th August free, around midday," all the fathers of the group were advised.
"We'd like to celebrate Father's Day by having you play some special games with your children and then stay for a BBQ lunch."

I knew this was coming - well kinda.
In May, Jack's class celebrated Mother's Day.
My wife Katherine and her mother Pat attended.
As far as I know, they didn't have to play games.
They had a special afternoon tea laid on for them - and I expected more of the same, only with more Triple Chocolate Cake.

"What kind of games do you think we'll have to play?" I asked Katherine after we read the newsletter.

"I don't know," Katherine said. "Maybe three-legged races. Perhaps you'd better start getting ready."

"Getting ready? For a three-legged race? How?" I said, accepting that I had become just a tad out of condition.

"You could run up and down the stairs at home 16 more times a day," Katherine said. "That would get you fit."

"You have got to be joking," I said. "I already walk up the stairs each night to go to bed. If I did any more, I could pull an important three-legged race muscle. Besides, people would think I was strange if they saw me running up and down the stairs for no good reason."

"Who's going to see you?" said Katherine.

"I don't know, but I'm not taking any risks," I said. "I've never heard of anyone training for a three-legged race anyway."

Then Jack dropped the sack race bombshell.

Ah, so THAT'S what might be in store.

Katherine still thinks the training on the stairs at home might be a good idea. "You don't want to embarrass Jack by being unfit and not very good," she said.

"No," I agreed. "But I cannot train alone."

Since Katherine's mother Pat accompanied her to the Mother's Day function, I think it is only fair that her father, Bob, come with me.

Bob is 77 and he has a walking stick but I am fairly confident that if we start training on our stairway, with our sacks, right now, that relay gold medal is in sight.

©July 27, 2001 John Martin. All Rights Reserved

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