The Running Diaries: Chapter Four

Chapter Four

Ben Havleck, January 2016
            After a disappointing race, the worst part is the wait until the next chance at redemption. For Ben, that wait was going to be nearly three months. The money he had been saving was enough for only two meet entries this winter. Half the funds were for the PTFCA Indoor State Track and Field Championships on March 1^st; but in order to be eligible, he would first have to eclipse the 9:00.23 standard in the 3,000m run.
            He had targeted the Muhlenberg Carnival on February 15^th as the meet to chase this mark, feeling that it allowed the best competition relative to his limited resources. Currently, Ben spent a few nights and weekends working at the local Barnes & Noble bookstore to pick up extra cash for his racing expenses. His parents would have gladly donated for the cause (their primary concern had always been the happiness and well-being of their children), but Ben did not want to be a burden. He understood why they had to move in the first place and knew money was tight.
            The Havleck family, consisting of Ben, his parents Beth and Paul, and his seven-year-old sister Cayley, had moved out to Bloomsburg in an attempt to cut costs and find work. Paul Havleck’s role in the technology and innovation department at Merck Laboratories had been eliminated as the company was making a push to “get younger”, improving its technological understanding and embracing the cutting edge, fast moving new generation of workers. As a result, Mr. Havleck had turned to the open market, and graciously accepted a teaching position at Bloomsburg University. With two kids (one of whom burned and refueled calories at an unthinkable rate) and college tuition prices rising, the position was doubly beneficial as both children would be able to attend Bloomsburg for free: removing a looming anxiety.
            But money was still a concern. Beth had returned to work for the first time since Cayley was born and the family’s usual summer trip to Sea Isle City, New Jersey was put on hold until things were better settled. Ben felt the extra stress of funding a full race season on top of his sister’s gymnastic classes would be an unnecessary strain on the budget. Of course convincing his parents to let him take a job without letting on his reasoning had been a bit tricky.  

            “Why is it that you want a job Ben?” His father said to him from the head of the dinner table as he spooned a helping of Mac and Cheese onto his plate. “You made solid money at camp last summer, didn’t you?” Ben took a sip of water before responding.

            “Yeah it was fine, I’m just looking to … have a bit more that I can use when I need it …” he trailed off awkwardly. His mother took the Mac and Cheese from his sister and passed it along to Ben.
            “Honey,” she said sympathetically, “this doesn’t have to do with college payments does it? I think, with time, your father and I will be able to pay for any school you want to-”
            “It’s not about that,” he cut across her more hastily than intended, “I just-well if I go out to eat or need to go to the mall, I’d like to have some extra money to pull from.” He was paying particularly close attention to spooning food on his plate, avoiding the gaze of either parent.
            “You know you can always come to us if you need something.”
            “Wait Beth, I think I see what’s going on …” Snapping his head up, Ben eyed his father nervously. “You have a girlfriend, don’t you son?” There was a bit of an awkward pause. This certainly was not where Ben had seen the conversation going. “Well, when you go out on a date, you want to have some money for gas or a nice meal. That’s understandable.”
            “Well … no I-there’s no girl I just-” he did not know how to finish his sentence. “Um … Not yet, but maybe one day …” It was at least partially true and if it got him to where he wanted to go …
            He could see his mother eager to ask a multitude of questions, but thankfully, she restrained her impulse and instead chose to smile cheerfully. “Well as long as the job doesn’t interfere with your school work … And we still want our family dinners as close to intact as possible.”
            “Sure, no problem,” Ben scarfed down a few more bites of garlic bread. “I have an interview tomorrow afternoon so I figure if you guys can drop me off, I’ll bring a change of clothes and then I can just run back.”
            “Didn’t you just run today? And now you’re going to run tomorrow?”
            “Everyday, Mom.” He smiled and turned his attention to his salad as the conversation mercifully switched to focus on his sister.
            “How was your day at school today Cay? Any exciting news like your brother?”
            “Well …” Cayley tapped her nose carefully while pondering her response, “Today at recess me and Tommy Finster got married by the swing set,” she said matter-of-factly. The family laughed together at the news.
            “This is so sudden Cayley, we didn’t even get to meet the guy!”
            “That’s ok, I saw him picking his nose at Lunch time so I divorced him. Chuckie Pickering let me share his chocolate pudding so I think I’ll prolly marry him tomorrow.” As they continued to laugh, Paul glanced sideways at his son.
            “We have a few puddings left in the fridge if you want to take them with you on your date. Sounds like they get results.”

Chris Cline, September 2016

            He stared across the table, staring blankly, his thoughts focused internally. “Do you ever wonder …  Am I playing the wrong game?” Chris paused, thoughtfully. “Is this what I’m really meant to do?” He stroked his chin artfully in the moment. Then he drew back his free arm and launched the Ping-Pong ball in a high arc through the air. It soared across the table before splashing gently into the lone cup on the other end. “Because seriously, I might be the next Jordan.”
            “Whoo yeah, that’s game baby!” Ernie and Chris exchanged a casual low five as their opponents on the other end walked away solemnly. “How many games is that now? Like six?”
            “I don’t know, but I’m gonna need to take a break.” Chris wobbled slightly on his first step before sitting down on the couch. He turned to look at the clock, his vision slightly behind his head, and read 11:05 PM. Ernie flopped down to his right.
            “You know I really enjoyed the overdramatic, existential routine you pulled back there. Nice twist on the cocky flare you usually play with.”
            Chris grinned, “I prefer to think of it as confidence.”
            “Liquid confidence maybe.”
            They sat briefly in silence while the music from the party filled the air. As I recall I know you love to show off … But I never thought that you would take it this far …
            Ernie momentarily considered his cup. He lifted it to his lips for a moment but then, thinking better of it, lowered it again.  “So what time are we going in tomorrow?”
            It was officially the last night of summer. West Chester North’s first day of classes began in less than eight hours.  Well, for most of the school anyway. West Chester’s football team had been given a special reprieve from morning classes so that they could fit in an extra film session in preparation for the opening game of the season: a match up with cross-town rival Coatesville.
            “I assume we still have to be there by 7, we just won’t actually have to do any school work until after lunch.” Chris looked across the room and noticed Paul Mintz slumbering peacefully in a reclining chair. “Our only job is not falling asleep during film.”
            “Which is going to be harder than a typical first day most likely …” Ernie said, stifling a yawn. He fiddled absentmindedly with his zipper and looked around the party, eventually catching sight of something behind Chris’s head. “And that’s my cue …” And Ernie rose to his feet and exited casually through an opening to his left.
            “What are you talking-” but Chris’s confusion was alleviated when a pair of hands covered his eyes from behind and a female voice came to him in his blindness.
            “Guess who?!” She said in a playful tone.
            “Hey Melissa,” Chris said, half-laughing, half exasperated. She removed her hands and moved into his line of sight, sharing a passionate kiss before taking up a position beside him.
            “So I was just talking to Shannon and she said that her sister thinks that ….” Chris put on his best attempt at an interested face. She had been his girlfriend for a few months now so he had learned to mentally prepare himself for gossiping and fashion discussions. “…. And I was all like, well of course I’d be happy for you, but like really if she gets it instead of me I would be, like, totally outraged because she barely even, like, knows any of our cheers …”
            Melissa Fredricks was head cheerleader for West Chester North’s squad and easily one of the most popular girls in school. A simple look at her Facebook page would reveal over 1,000 friends (and double that in pictures). She had spent her early high school years dating older boys, including the previous quarterback of the football team. Chris’s mother would have described her as one of the “fast” girls at North: she was doing things at a “faster pace” than a typical girl was at her age. The outfit she had decided to wear to the night’s party would have supported his mom’s theory.
            “I can’t believe we have to go back to school in a couple hours. And you’re not even going to be there with me for half the day!” She hugged him as she finished her sentence.
            “Yeah … it’s a bummer …” Her hug had pinned his right arm to his side, allowing for only an awkward one-armed response. “Did we ever figure out how we are getting home by the way?” Chris glanced over at the clock again. His parents were likely already concerned about his lateness.  “Can your parents still come by?”
            “No, I never asked. I thought we were just getting a ride with Jacob.”
            “Jacob? Are you serious? Chris stared across the room at Jacob who was laughing hysterically at something Ernie had just said. Both had their arms around each other’s shoulders. Possibly in a display of friendship, possibly out of necessity to maintain balance. “I’m not getting in a car with him.”
            “It’s fine, it’s just right around the corner-”
            “No way. C’mon, I’ll walk you to your house and then I’ll run home or something. It’s not that far and I’d rather make sure we get back safely.” Melissa smiled slightly. She appreciated his efforts to protect her, but also looked slightly put off about the thought of walking nearly a mile.
            “Ok … But can you hold my shoes?”   

            Darkness. Silence. Chris felt like it probably would have been an enjoyable experience to make this jog under normal circumstances. He could immerse himself in his thoughts, undisturbed. These days, it was rare to get a few moments alone. Of course, tonight his thoughts were dominated by concerns. Would he be in trouble for being out so late? For being at the party?

            Snap. He stepped on a twig as he continued to stride along through the night, causing him to look about frantically before realizing he was still alone. His feet ached as he bounded: boat shoes were a counterproductive choice. Sweat was slowly starting to fall from his face and gather on his body. The collar of his shirt was moist to the touch. Well, at least I won’t smell like the party when I get home, he thought to himself. Another two-three minutes and he would be home before midnight, able to sneak up to bed with little suspicion. Chris took a deep, calming breath and turned onto his street.
            Behind him, car lights brought the street in front of him into view. Probably just Jacob on his way home. He checked back over his shoulder, trying to make out the vehicle. No luck. As he continued on, the car pulled even with him and he could take another shot: a Subaru, definitely not Jacob’s car. But the car was slowing down. A little farther along his path, it pulled over at the side of the road, sitting, apparently waiting for him. Oh, shoot … Please don’t be a cop, please don’t be a cop …
            “Hi there,” It was a friendly voice, projecting from what appeared to be a tall, skinny man with glasses. “That’s quite the stride you have there.”
            “Um … thanks,” Chris mumbled. What the f- is going on?! If he says he has candy in his car, I’m bolting …
            “Have you ever considered running cross country?”
            “Uh … not really … honestly, I didn’t really want to run this far, so I can’t imagine making it across the entire country …”
            “No, no” The man laughed briefly, “For the Cross Country team. We race distance races, about three miles long, across a variety of terrain and against some of the other schools in the area. Our team will be competing throughout the fall.”
            “Oh …” Chris’s mind jumped back to the runners he and his friends had encountered at various points during the summer. The bullying and dislike from his teammates. “I play Football in the fall so I wouldn’t be able to swing it … Um … Sorry.”
            “Well, if anything changes, feel free to let us know,” the man said happily. And with that, he drove off into the darkness, leaving Chris in silence once again.
            You couldn’t catch me dead in those shorts.    

Ben Havleck, cont.

            It was a crisp fall day at the beginning of November: stereotypical cross country weather. A long row of boys, jumping up and down to stay warm, was confined on either side by two long seas of fans and parents. A lone man in an orange vest fiddled with his starter’s gun about halfway down an empty straightaway of grass. Ben stood alone in a box nearly dead center on the course, wearing a plain, maroon cotton t-shirt, black running shorts and a pair of white gloves. Bloomsburg did not have an official team, which meant they did not have official uniforms. While the other kids wore carefully designed racing singlets, Ben fidgeted in his gym uniform top, trying to adjust the sleeves to his liking.
            The first straightaway narrowed quickly and was deceivingly short, making the first two hundred meters a dogfight for position. As the gunman raised his arm, a hush fell across the crowd creating an eerie moment of silence. Ben took a deep, calming breath. Then a shot. Then an explosion of noise. The crowd erupted into chairs and Ben sprinted as hard as he could, fighting desperately for position. Elbows were flying all around him. Runners were collapsing down on top of him from all sides. He stepped wrong and lost his balance, trying desperately to steady himself. He could feel his position slipping, but he managed to not fall. He was in a decent spot, probably about 12th. He made to go around the turn, but as he did so he took an elbow to the chest and again started to wobble dangerously. Behind him, jockeying had caused another runner to extend his arms out for balance. There was a push in the back and the Ben’s already fragile balance crumbled away.
            From the ground, a stampede of runners were beginning to go by, like a heard of scared gazelle. He reacted the best he could: dodging and rolling through traffic, shielding his face to avoid being stabbed by spikes. And now there was music playing, loud blaring music, not coming from any source in particular but sounding vaguely familiar …
            I tried so hard, and got so far … but in the end , it doesn’t even matter …
            Ben awoke with a start and whirled through his blankets to turn off his alarm, which was loudly trumpeting “In the End” by Linkin Park. Coming to his senses, he checked the clock as it turned from 5:45 to 5:46. He lay flat on his back and stared at the ceiling for a moment, the scenes from his dream still lingering in front of his eyes. Eventually, he reluctantly flicked his blankets away from his body and dressed for his morning run to school. He would be doing his longer run in the morning in order to give him time to cover an extra shift at the bookstore later that night.
            He pulled out a pair of white gloves and his knit hat from the basket by the door. After a momentary struggle, he was able to corral most of his hair beneath its surface. He gave a quick glance at his reflection in the mirror, tied his house key into his shoe and ran off into the darkness. His light breathing and his efficient stride gave a rhythm to his morning, accented by the occasional click-clack of key meeting shoe.
            Circling by the school, he checked the status of his track: still covered in snow. He was getting tired of making up workouts revolving around arbitrary distances and longed for a bit more scientific approach to training. His previous workout was five repetitions of the school perimeter with ninety seconds of slow jog recovery in between each interval. Before that he had done an out and back run to Molino Park, running conservatively the way there and as hard as he could for the three miles it took him to return home. He was able to make them challenging, but the imprecise nature of their design made it impossible for him to track his progress. He knew he was improving, but he wanted to know how much.
            The Muhlenberg Track Carnival was only two weeks away and, although he was confident in his fitness, his goal time was light-years ahead of his personal best from the previous winter. Without any additional data to prove otherwise, he could not fight the notion that he was being foolishly over confident.  
            He ran some splits through his head as he circled back through the side neighborhoods of his high school, carefully dodging a student driver rolling straight through a stop sign. Seventy-twos per lap outdoors, thirty-sixes indoors. He jogged through the parking lot, imagining himself clicking off the marks one at a time. Thirty-six, seventy-two, 1:48, 2:24 …
            With eight miles under his belt, Ben ate a bagel while he did some light core work in the locker room. By the time he had showered and sidled into history class, the second bell that signaled the start of 1^st Period was fading into silence. Hastily, he pulled out his notes and flipped to a fresh page. Unlike some other classes to which he would gladly have been late, Ben immensely enjoyed his history class. It was amazing for him to learn about all the little facts and subtle circumstances that ultimately had a gargantuan effect on the shaping of society.
            Currently, they were studying the 1960 presidential election between Richard Nixon and John F. Kennedy. It was an interesting example of the power of public opinion and a good first impression. “The debates were televised and Nixon seemed nervous and uncomfortable, while Kennedy was just the opposite … Even if you are a hardworking, dedicated student, sometimes those who are blessed with natural gifts like confidence or charisma will still get ahead … It calls us to question what we perceive or what we want to be important and what is actually important …”

Chris Cline, October 26^th 2016
            “Hey! Are those new?”
            “Yeah, I just got them last night.” Chris was smiling as he stepped out of his car, flaunting a pair of jet-black running shorts. They covered less than half of his impressive quad muscles.
            “Well now you’re officially a cross country runner!”
            “How does it feel?”
            “Honestly …” Chris fidgeted a briefly with the lining in his shorts. “I’m a little cold.” He hopped up and down for a second and the trail surface grinded slightly beneath his shoes. “You guys ready to run? I’ve got a doctor’s appointment at 12 …” Chris trailed off as he spoke, realizing the implications of what he had said. The mood among the runners, previously upbeat and jovial suddenly became awkward and tense.
            “Finally getting your cast off?” Sam asked with a forced casualness. Chris looked down at his left hand absentmindedly. 
            “Yeah … Should um … make me a bit lighter …” He purposely avoided his friends’ eyes. It might not even matter. If they lose tonight, there’s no decision. “C’mon, let’s get this run in. I’m freezing in these things.”