Do you know what the longest word is in the English language? Some of you might say pneumonoultramicroscopicsilicovolcanoconiosis. And, you’d be technically correct. (I’d really like to hear someone actually say that word without stumbling, pausing and stuttering.) That word is the name of a disease caused by inhaling silica or quartz dust, more commonly known as silicosis.

When I asked myself the long word question, the first one I thought of was antidisestablishmentarianism, and then, of course, supercalifragilisticexpialidocious. The first one there means opposition to the disestablishment of the Church of England. The second one, I was surprised to learn is a real word that originated before the “Mary Poppins” movie popularized it. It means extraordinarily good or wonderful.

For my purposes here and now, I would make the case for a regular, easy to pronounce, word as being the longest word. You may have heard this before, but I’m reminding you now, that “smiles” is, by far, the longest word. That’s because … wait for it: there is a mile between the first and the last letters.

A mile equals 5,280 feet. That’s 1,760 yards. I know a lot of you hunters and football people like to think in yards. By the way, I guess you heard that they’re not going to make yard sticks any longer. (Think about that for a second, if it didn’t make you smile or groan.)

Last Saturday, our handsome, athletic, do-no-wrong, mild mannered, polite, 8-year-old, one and only grandson stopped in for a little several hour Sanpete visit. (Did I mention that Luke is a good kid?)

He was on his way back from a spring break trip down to St. George. Oh, he brought his parents with him too.

Luke is signed up for a one mile foot race in several weeks, so he’s in training. It was decided that an outing to the high school track would be a good thing. Luke wasn’t convinced that it was really a training day, but, with four adults against one kid, his odds weren’t good for taking the day off.

When we got to the track, Luke had the idea that “doing stadiums” would be a good training exercise. His dad, my son, agreed.

So, there we were, me included (to a much lesser degree), going up and down the stairs at the football stadium. Luke’s mom and grandma walked the track.

I felt a little like Sylvester Stallone, as Rocky, going up those stairs. Well, that is, if Rocky felt exhausted, drained, out of breath and ready for a heart attack — then I felt like him.

After knocking off the stadium stairs and a few moments of recovery time, we boys made our way to the track. I was digging deep to recover the concept that this was a fun outing. It was fun. It just sort of hurt. (Thank goodness for the Tylenol I took before leaving home.)

I announced that I was going to hit the track with a good, hard, serious, high-speed (compared to a tortoise) jog. And that’s what I did — for what I figure was … one moment here … let me do the math … yes, I’ve got it. I would estimate that I was just a little shy of one-eighth of a mile (660 feet).

I was huffing and puffing like the “big bad wolf.” My lungs felt like I was a victim of … of … of … a disease named with a very longgg word.

I slowed to a respectable walk — or was it a disguised limp? I finished the lap on the track and did another. Everyone else did their own thing. We all got our “training” in for the day.

We talked about the upcoming mile race. I brought up the quite well known story of Roger Bannister of England. Way back when, it was thought that running the mile in less than 4 minutes was impossible. We researched and read a little about Bannister’s story.

Roger took 4th place in the 1500 meter race at the 1952 Olympics in Helsinki, Finland. That finish set a British record. Because of that, Roger became determined to be the first one to run a sub-four-minute mile.

The goal was reached on May 6, 1954. It was a dual-meet between British AAA and Oxford University. The race was broadcast live by BBC Radio with the commentator being Harold Abrahams. He had been the 100 meter champ at the 1924 Olympics. (famously depicted in the movie “Chariots of Fire”)

As the results of the race were announced at the stadium, the words of the announcer were cut off. He said, “The time was three …” At that point, the roar of the crowd of three thousand spectators made the rest of the announcement impossible to hear. The time was 3 minutes, 59.4 seconds. Forty six days later, Roger Bannister’s record was broken by a rival runner with a time of 3:58.

I know there are runners in Sanpete who do marathons and other races. Some have been to the famous races in Boston and New York. I’m told that running can become an addiction of sorts.

Maybe I’ve become addicted. My wife and I were back at the track on Sunday afternoon. I did a couple of “ups and downs” on the stadium stairs and then got on the track. I checked my “activities app” on my phone (Strava) and discovered that I did a 21 minute, 20 second mile.

Take that, Roger Bannister! (RIP) And Luke, for that matter. But really, take that, all the tortoises of the world! — Merrill