Block · one region of the page, as the scanner read it. It may hold a whole story, part of one, several, or an advertisement; stitching blocks into articles is the next step. Text is supplied OCR.
Page 14 · column 5 of 6 · from the scan, no model involved
iuu Miuw, r ooaerstacK Hill is not the worst part. It’s traveling five and one half miles on blistering hot pavement, under scorching sunbeams to find that you have one more hill to climb as you enter into the town of Washington.
At this point I could just fall on my face. Brotherhood overcomes one’s desire for success at five and three Quarter miles — no one cares who gets there first. Words of encouragement are heard as runners pass sweaty runners — gasping, pumping, gasping.
Finally, I see the sign that says finish. I think they’ve moved it — to another town. It’s the longest block I’ve ever run — that one down Gay Street to the court house.
I always want to trip the runners who have finished and now saunter, in the opposite direction of the finish line at an even pace, back to their care, faces no longer red, sweat dried, satisfaction beaming across their faces.
When I cross the line, as I do now, sweat dripping, lungs bursting, legs stretched, I need a guemey and water, water, water.
Nina Stamer was just four minutes ahead of me. If I was in shape — if I would have pushed a little harder —if.. . if.. . if...
I’ll beat her next year.
Just four minutes ahead of me — just wait until next year.
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