The Inuit
Sergio the Eskimo, that is what everyone called him. No one meant anything mean by it, it was just that his real name was way too hard to pronounce.
No one knew his back story (no one ever cared enough to ask). The other tenants in his apartment complex would see him around and say “hi” and that was about it. To them, he was just another guy living in the building.
No one saw him get up at dawn every day to go down to the beach for his workouts. No one knew he would sprint and sprint and then sprint some more until he threw up on the sand. No one knew he would come home and meditate for hours and then go back to the beach long after the sun went down.
He never had to explain that he didn’t have to work because the people back home all pitched in to send him to the mainland. (He was as invisible as a man in plain sight could be.)
One day Sergio posted a notice on the community bulletin board.
RACE AGAINST SERGIO.
All comers welcome. 150 meters.
This is your chance to race against the fastest Inuit sprinter ever.
One week from today at noon.
The big day came and Sergio walked down to the beach to see a couple dozen people at the start line. They all did their stretches. Sergio took off his shirt, an old Sergio Tacchini tennis warm-up top, and put it in his duffel bag.
The race began and all 25 people took off. Sergio crossed the finish line in 19th place. He looked stunned as he walked back to his apartment. He sat for a long time before he was able to compose the following e-mail:
Dearest Elders,
The Americans in San Diego are damn fast runners. I am sorry that you gave me all your money and sent me here for the greater glory of our people. I will not be making anyone’s Olympic Team. I am sorry. I will come back home soon.
The elders were confused. Sergio was the fastest runner any of them had ever seen. Most said that he set the earth on fire with each stride. They didn’t know what to make of the message. They quickly called for a council meeting.
A few days later Sergio wrote the council again to tell them that he would be heading home. He said that he was deeply sorry that he wasted the council’s time and wasted his people’s money. The elders waited at the train station to greet Biisaiyowaq with a large banner made in his honor. He never got off the train.
Back in San Diego a policeman came across a canvas bag on a bridge. There wasn’t much in it, nothing to identify who it belonged to or where it came from. He had no idea that it belonged to the pride of an Inuit village, a man some called Sergio.
