【原】【文章節選】身為跑者《雨中的3分58秒》

Run旅途者 2023-10-22 發布于陜西

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《雨中的3分58秒》內容簡介

關于跑步，最精彩動人的一部小說！

卡西迪熱愛跑步，他一直在挑戰1600米的“4分鐘障礙”，而且大四那年春天的比賽是他最后的機會。正當他在傳奇學長丹頓的指導下一步步朝此目標邁進時，他遇見了迷人的安莉亞，她讓他心慌意亂。卡西迪本來過著苦行僧般的訓練生活，安莉亞的出現挑釁著他原本對訓練的專注。而且在最艱難的時刻，卡西迪因挺身幫助隊友對抗學校不公，面臨被退學無法參賽的危機。安莉亞此時此刻作出了驚人的決定，她企圖挽回這段感情，當愛情和夢想抉擇時，誰會勝出？

或許我們都是為了夢想，不惜一切代價去追求的瘋子，但當你親身體驗后，才會知道人的靈魂可以承受多少東西。

【中文版】第三回合春天（最后一節）

身為跑者……

樂趣，或許就在于再一次畫下休止符，讓一切回歸平靜，毫不猶豫。

年輕人沉著穩定的腳步踩過另一側的彎道，那是整個跑道最陰暗的地方。接著，他踏上最后沖刺的直線跑道。就在這里，他心想，輸贏通常已成定局，就看怎么收尾罷了。對觀眾來說，這一段或許興奮刺激，但跑者卻是以平靜的心情跑完。

當跑在第二、三圈的期間，他回想當初在跑道上的絕望和痛苦。然而，那些感覺總是若即若離。因為唯有親身經歷才能體會，而回憶總是失真。

如今，他已經踏上最后的五十米。擺動的雙臂不由自主地稍微起勁了些，同時回想起最后幾米的極度摧折。雙臂和肩膀，雙腳和臀部，全都動彈不得似的，而僵硬的下巴卡在扭曲的臉上，一副看似哀求的模樣。這時，整個生命只剩下孤注一擲的決絕，懇求自己單薄的身軀能夠擺脫最后一次悲慘的痙攣。他對這些細膩的心情轉化是多么了若指掌啊！

接著，他來到了柱子旁，告訴自己，最后五米了，沖過去吧！盡管勇往直前吧！他駐足觀望四周。難忍的疼痛會在此找上你。當然，就在你跨過終點線的那一刻，心中的球體，瞬間爆裂。最初的幾秒鐘，你會被這樣的痛苦感覺完全淹沒，那是心靈對之防御最強的表現。在此之后，你再也無法找到它的蹤跡。

不過，即使當時是如此艱難，其中必定摻雜了一些樂趣，某種極度的慰藉。樂趣，或許就在于再一次畫下休止符，讓一切回歸平靜，毫不猶豫。

他用力吸了好幾口九月的溫暖空氣，走向跑道外拿他的背袋。他再度環顧身旁的沙坑、跳高選手專用的橢圓形沙盒、舉重選手用的水泥環，最后則是那根起跑柱。這時，他的目光落在跑道上，緩緩沿著鋪上塑膠的表面望去，先是看到第一個轉彎處，接著是遠處的兩百米標示柱，繞過遠程的彎道，然后回到最后沖刺與終點線這一段。好久以前，他在這一段擊敗了偉大的約翰·華頓。這條曾經讓他揮霍青春的跑道，如今竟娓娓道出他的人生。

四百米的跑道，他對每一公分都知之甚詳。多少回憶留在這里，他心想。但是，我可以泰然處之。

他往前直走越過操場，穿越跑道，走到大門外，留下仍在夜間苦練的跑者。蛾群依舊覆蓋著街燈。

突然，年輕人在蛾群的舞動陰影間停下腳步，打開他的背袋。他在護照、衣物和盥洗用具之間掏摸著，終于找到了它。他在街燈下打開那個扁平的橢圓形盒子，再次端詳著它。

這個沉甸甸的圓盤放置在粉紅絲緞上，圓盤上的紫色厚實緞帶卷成小束，放在柔軟的絲緞后面。邊緣寫的是希臘文，但其中含義倒是一清二楚。

微光下的銀牌閃動著朦朧的光芒。它再也不會讓他有錐心之痛了。

這個我也可以泰然處之，他心想。因為我已經不屬于這個世界了。他面帶微笑，合上盒蓋，把它放回袋子底部。他轉身離去，不再回眸，就這樣走出了跑道。

有個地方，有一棵長滿節瘤的老樹，那是他找尋的所在，那是他要走的路……

【個人看法】本書英文《ONCE A RUNNER》,范湲翻譯。

范湲，西班牙納瓦拉大學語言學碩士。當過西班牙文口譯，教過英文、西班牙文，近年多從事新聞相關工作，在臺灣做過藝文版主編，到倫敦做過通訊社記者。定居奧地利薩爾斯堡近郊。　　

已出版譯作：《風之影》《天使游戲》《海上教堂》《當幸福來敲門》《這一生都是你的機會》等。

【想法??】或許一位真正懂田徑，懂跑步，懂訓練的人才能貼身感受到競跑和徑賽的魅力以及訓練之中的細膩，不知道有沒有人可以把這些翻譯過的文章進行修訂，很多讀起來是不符合國人語義習慣，有些拗口。自己也會嘗試，把以前規劃的想法落地。??????????

【英文版】38. ...A Runner

…A Runner

THE YOUNG MAN WALKED STEADILY through the far turn, the darkest part of the track, and entered the final straightaway. Here, he thought, it is usually all over; just a matter of throwing what is left into it. It would be exciting to the onlookers perhaps, but the runners would be calmly playing it out.

During the second and third laps he had tried to conjure up the old feeling of despair and pain, but as always could not quite get it. It had to be experienced, not remembered.

Now he was walking the last fifty yards, unconsciously swinging his arms a little more vigorously, trying to conjure up some of that helpless frozen broth of the last few yards, when the arms and shoulders, legs and hips, all seem to bind themselves up together and the jaw locks into the tight grimace as if in supplication, and all of life is reduced to a simple desperation, a pleading for the last pathetic twitch from simple clay. How well he knew these things.

Then he was by the post, telling himself for the last five yards, Go through it, go all the way through it. He stopped and looked around. The pain would catch you here, of course, the orb would shatter as soon as you crossed the line and it would overwhelm you for those first few seconds. That, of all the feelings, was the one that your mind protected you from the most; later you wouldn’t even be able to get a hint of it.

But he supposed that even as bad as it was then, there must be some kind of pleasure mixed in with it, some desperate relief. Joy, perhaps, in knowing that it was over, one more time, with nothing held back.

He took several deep breaths of the warm September air and then walked to the infield to get his travel bag. He looked around once more at the vaulting pits, the oblong sandbox of the horizontal jumpers, the concrete rings for the weight men, and finally back at the starting post. His eyes then took in the track, slowly following the rubberized surface all the way around the first turn, down the long lonely back straight past the 220 post, around the far turn, and then back up the final straight to the finish post where he had long ago beaten the great John Walton. Uncomplicated dimensions that had for some years now defined his life.

A quarter of a mile that he knew by the inches. There was much to be left behind here, he thought. But I can live with that.

He walked straight across the infield, across the track, and out the gate, leaving the joggers to their nightly toil. The moths still worried the streetlight.

The young man stopped momentarily amid the dancing insect shadows and opened the small travel bag. He reached around under the passport, clothes, and toilet articles until he found it. He opened the flat, thin oblong box under the streetlight and looked at it once more.

The heavy round disk reposed against pink satin, its thick purple ribbon curling up and behind the soft material. The writing around the edge was in Greek but the general import was clear enough.

In the pale light the silver metal glowed dully. It no longer stabbed at him.

This I can live with too, he thought. Primarily because I no longer have any say in the matter. He smiled faintly, closed the box, and replaced it in the bottom of the bag. He turned without looking back and walked away from the track.

There was a very old gnarled tree somewhere he wanted to find and then he would be on his way.