“Give horses to your children, not money!”- Winston Churchill
I dedicate this little novel to Zali Sutton who turned 6 and facing serious challenges in her professional athletic carrier
Our coach is often referring about me as having “running background” or being “natural runner”, while he is right- as always- I think he has no idea what he is talking about…
So here is the story of “how I became a runner”….
-Hard to imagine but there was a life before the cell phones….
Information was transported by messengers.
In our little farm that was ME. The smallest, with two sticks instead of legs….and anyway, not really useful for anything else….
But that job did not make me any runner. Some messages were never delivered (went to the account of natural disaster) -the kid forgot it half way and went for playing soccer with neighbor kids…
Then around my 6th birthday something happened….
Grandpa dragged me into the stable saying “there is a huge surprise for you Babi!”
I got all excited, I really, really wanted a bike for my birthday…
But there was Mathew IV. lying on the straw still wet.
A newborn baby horse. A boy. Mathew. Or exactly Mathew IV.
In our family, like in every royal family, the oldest son inherit ting not only the family name but the first name too. Same with the farm animals. Our every stallion got named Mathew and every mare Monique. Mathew, the fair-minded was our greatest king and Monique?! Well, this will stay the secret of my Grandpa forever….
So there was Mathew IV. My surprise.
I hated Mathew from the first sight, because:
1: He was not a bicycle,
2: He was now the smallest, cutest- the new favorite of the farm,
3: He was not too smart, but he figured out quickly that I am the equivalent of him in the human society and probably the only one with considering spear time, so we kids should have to keep and play together,
4: Mathew IV. has a green or wild card, being free in the yard…
5: Mathew was growing fast, and was a beast,
We played all day long the only possible game what Mathew could find out, he was chasing me and I escaped, madly…
I always tried to sneak along the walls silent, but the dogs, the bitches, always betrayed me…joining to the fun. I have never forgotten those interwalls.
With the time going on, I survived and outran many more Mathew and Monique.
I can thank my basic endurance and speed for them.
This is also the reason, why my family and any another Hungarian do not eat horse meat.
We do not eat family members….
The lesson of my little story?
Run Zali RUN!!!!
