The Running Diaries: Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chris Cline, September 2016

            After the 7^th period bell had rang, Chris headed to his locker to grab a change of clothes for practice. He stuffed some old basketball shorts, a t-shirt with cut off sleeves and a pair of Nike running sneakers into a larger duffle bag that used to be packed with football accessories. He hoisted the bag around his shoulder, its contents tumbling awkwardly around the surplus of space. With the block of plaster protecting his left hand, he awkwardly pushed his locker shut.

            “Ready for your first day little guy?” Ernie said, imitating a mother talking to her toddler on their first school day. He had spotted Chris from his own locker a few numbers to his left and was approaching with his arms wide and a large, fake smile on his face.

            “Hey man, come to wish me luck?” Chris asked as the pair turned to walk up the hallway towards the locker room.

            “Not exactly,” Ernie replied, putting his arm around Chris and changing his tone to one of mock concern. “I just don’t how many days we have left together. Seeing as this whole running thing will probably kill you.”

            Chris smiled. “I think it’s your unyielding faith in me that makes you such a good friend.”

            “The best.” He gave his shoulder a small squeeze before removing his arm. “Honestly, I’m just surprised Coach let you join. That sounds incredibly out of character.”

            “Trust me, if he had his way, I wouldn’t be going. Apparently the Cross Country coach lobbied pretty hard for it and managed to convince him. Wonder what he possibly could have said …”

            “Who’s the Coach?”

            “It’s that Math teacher … I think his name’s Mr. Finley.” Chris came to a stop at a hallway intersection. “I gotta cut down this way, I’m meeting Melissa before practice.”

            “Well aren’t you guys just adorable.” He clasped his hands together and put a dreamy expression on his face. “Text me the latest gossip later!” After blowing an overdramatized kiss, they departed in opposite directions: Chris shaking his head, but smiling despite himself.

            When he turned, he could see Melissa rapidly approaching. She was already dressed in her clothes for cheerleading practice. As she got closer, Chris noticed she seemed slightly flustered.

            “Thank god, you’re here. I’m just having the worst day.” She handed him her back pack and together they trekked off down the hallway from which Ernie had just disappeared. “First, Chelsea tells me her parents aren’t going away this weekend anymore, which means there probably won’t be a party. And, like, I had just picked out, like, the perfect top.” She flicked a strand of hair across her face. “Then, Mrs. Thompson makes me put on this disgusting sweatshirt she pulled out of the lost and found because my shirt isn’t ‘up to school standards’. Like, I’m sorry I don’t wear whatever used to be fashionable in the sixties-”

            “Mrs. Thompson? Isn’t she in her thirties?”

            “Whatever,” she said with a flick of her rest. “She certainly doesn’t dress like it. By the way,” she added, flipping through her phone, “I saw the best thing on Yik Yak today. Did you download that yet?”

            “I don’t have a smart phone,” Chris replied, offering up his small, cell phone as proof.

            “Trust me you, like, need one in this day and age. Just have your parents buy you one. That’s what I do. Like I used to have an iPhone 5S while the 6 was out and I was like, oh my god, shoot me.”

            “I know a couple starving African children with similar concerns.” Chris offered, but his joke was lost on his girlfriend, who had become completely engaged with a texting conversation on her phone.

            “Yeah, exactly,” she said distractedly. After a rare moment of silence, the couple reached the edge of the gymnasium where each athlete would go their separate way. Melissa looked up from her phone and flashed Chris a disappointed sulk. “So you’re really gonna go through with this, huh?” She said with a hint of frustration. “You know this is like social suicide.”

            Chris gave her a pitying smile. “I’m not worried about it. It’s just for a couple weeks until I can play again.”

            “Just promise me,” she pleaded, “You won’t ever wear those shorts. I’m pretty sure one of those kids has the exact same pair I do.”

            “I’m telling you, they were basically identical. Like same color, same brand, everything.”

            “Well, that’s what you get for buying girl’s shorts.”

            “Half as expensive and twice as colorful. I’m no mathematician, but I think that’s a great deal.”

            “That’s why you’re not a mathematician.”

            From the opposite side of the track, Chris approached a group of about twenty boys, two of which were standing near the front of the crowd having, apparently, an amusing debate. Most were wearing short sleeve shirts with the names of what Chris assumed must have been some type of competitions. A few prominently featured the letters “X” and “C”.

            “I’m just saying, it wouldn’t kill you to be a little less cynical about everything, Andy. Pretty sure your negative attitude is why the girl’s team refuses to hang out with us.” He dropped his voice and gestured his head in the direction of a small pack of girls standing about twenty meters away.

            “Yeah … that’s the reason …”

            “Well either that or Mike’s toe fungus.”

            A few members of the group burst out laughing. The boy who had been called Andy opened his mouth to pile on, but then stopped mid-thought. He had spotted Chris, now just a few feet away, and fell silent. As more runners realized the quarterback’s arrival, the grins gradually faded. Even the girl’s team had fallen relatively quiet beyond a few hushed whispers.

            Great, Chris thought to himself, standing awkwardly on the outskirts of the group. We’re best friends already. There was a clear tension in the air, with an undertone of deep dislike. After a moment’s silence, the boys decided to recommence their talking, but this time in a slightly quieter, more reserved voice. No one even acknowledged Chris’s presence until the team’s coach arrived, accompanied by a boy Chris recognized from his English class.

            “Sorry I’m late everyone,” he said, straightening his glasses on his face. Coach Finley stood a few inches above six feet, but looked as though he would struggle to crack 160 pounds soaking wet. He carried a pair of stop watches around his neck and wore a blue and gray baseball cap on top of his short, dark-blonde hair. “If we can all gather around and take a seat, I’d like to discuss last Saturday’s meet.” His voice was light and friendly, sharply contrasting the harsh tones of Chris’s previous instructor. Following directions, the team assembled on the ground in front of Finley.

            “But before we begin, I should note that we have a new addition to our men’s team. Senior Chris Cline has decided to join our ranks.” He smiled at Chris, who nervously returned the gesture. “If you have any questions, I’m sure our captains, Will and Ricky, will be happy to show you the ropes.” He turned his gaze towards a pair of seniors, one of whom was the boy Coach Finley had entered practice with. Chris gave the two runners a small nod of acknowledgement, which was only returned by half of the pair. The other simply stared coldly back. A few feet away, the boy named Andy whispered something to his friend, who laughed under his breath. Chris seriously doubted either captain was very interested in “showing him the ropes.”

            After the introduction, Coach Finley switched topics, diving into an in depth discussion of the teams’ weekend performance. Most of the terminology was completely foreign to Chris, who sat struggling to follow the conversation. There was talk of ‘splits’ and ‘packs’, which he assumed must be certain running formations. Something appeared to be significant about being a ‘5^th man’ and, for some reason, the team seemed disappointed they had scored 58 points when they were expecting to be closer to 45. At the end of the meeting, Chris was fairly certain Coach Finley congratulated a runner named Sam for kicking someone at the end of the race. I thought this was a non-contact sport ….

            Once the recap was complete, the runners rose to their feet, brushing off a few stray pieces of track from their legs. Feeling suddenly nervous, Chris followed their lead. He tried to tighten his shorts waist band, but struggled to get a strong grip on the strings while wearing his cast.

            “Now let’s just take things easy today. We raced hard last weekend and have a quality effort coming on Wednesday. Will, Jack and Ricky, you guys do 8, freshman and newcomers do 5 and everybody else just fill in where it seems appropriate. As for the women …”

            The boys team disseminated as Coach Finley turned his attention to their female counterparts. Almost everyone removed their shirt with the exception of a few timid looking freshman. Chris hesitated for a moment in indecision, before opting to remain clothed.

            “County Fields run today, Will?” One boy asked from the front of the pack as they approached the gate to exit the stadium. He spoke to the boy Chris had recognized earlier as his classmate, who had arrived with their coach.

            “That should be good. It gives everybody a chance to run together for the first couple miles and then the guys doing five can turn around.” Will replied, stepping importantly to the front of the group. Filing in behind Will, the boys eased slowly into a jog, striding away towards the sidewalk along the side of the school. Chris slid himself into position near the back of the pack, feeling awkward. His arm carriage felt unnatural and he was suddenly extremely conscious about the expression his face was making as he ran.

            As the group picked up steam, conversations sprouted up throughout the pack. Chris listened to the talk ahead of him for a moment, before determining he was listening to some type of indecipherable gibberish.

            “I’m not ready to quit on Alamirew, he’s got better wheels than Gebrehiwhet and Longiswa.”

            “But what about Kejelcha? Or Gebremeskel?”

            “Doesn’t matter, nobody’s beating Farah. He’s the greatest since Bekele.”

            Chris hid his bewilderment behind what he hoped was a relaxed expression. He felt quite comfortable at this pace. It was much slower than any sprinting he did during football practice. Am I doing this right? He thought to himself. I feel like I’m not getting any benefit out of this. No one ever taught me how to run …

            Unsure of himself, Chris quickened his pace, moving up the pack to the shoulder of the top group. As he advanced, he noticed things had quieted behind him. Some of the younger runners had turned their attention to the action ahead of them. A few looked curiously, while others looked amused.

            “Five bucks on Will,” he heard someone whisper.

            “Ten on McGee,” Came the faint reply.

            The team continued toward a four way intersection, where they briefly paused to check for traffic. It was here that Will and the runner to his left, a boy with short, dark red hair, exchanged the quickest of glances. Then, crossing the street, Chris felt the tempo begin to quicken. Gradually, Chris’s breathing became more irregular. But, determinedly, he tried to stick with the lead pack. His competitive instincts had taken over. However, his hubris had betrayed him. As they made a small right turn into a side neighborhood, the football star began to understand he was fighting a losing battle.

            The pack split from him as he plummeted off the pace, panting feebly. The team made another right, followed quickly by a left. Chris tried to stay close enough to keep the trailers in sight, but his side ached and his mouth felt dry. At another intersection, he watched the last runners split in two different directions. Confused and defeated, he let himself slow to a walk. Great. Now what do I do?

            Taking in his surroundings, he recognized next to nothing. It was an empty neighborhood with few street signs away from any major roads. Now, he came to a complete stop, racking his brain for an idea. He was completely lost. Alone. Without a cellphone. No one knew where he was and, most likely, nobody cared. In fact, they’re probably thrilled.

            Feeling defeated and rather stupid, he trudged off the street towards the nearest house, hoping that, for some odd reason, they would be comfortable with a sweaty stranger entering their home and borrowing their phone. His head drooped in misery as he scanned for the house most likely to get a response. Fortunately, as he moved to the sidewalk, he heard a voice call out to him from somewhere in the distance.

            “Hey! HEY!”

            Chris whirled around, trying to find the source of the yelling. He spotted a short boy splitting off from a small pack of runners and approaching him. As he grew from a distant speck, Chris could see how young and tiny the boy was. He was probably about 90% legs.

            “We’re heading back to school, wanna jump in with us?” He smiled softly and gestured back over his shoulder.

            “Us?” Chris nodded his head in the same direction. The boy turned to follow his gaze and saw, with awkward surprise, that his teammates had no interest in waiting up for the struggling quarterback. They had continued their run, taking a turn down a side street and beginning to disappear from sight.

            “Oh … uh …” He shrugged his shoulders slightly, giving a small smile, “Well we should probably … uh … start running?” He attempted an encouraging nod over his head and turned back up the street. Chris raised his eyebrows but, reluctantly, turned to follow. Not like I really have a choice at this point. If I don’t follow him, I’m stuck here.

            They broke into a slow jog with the small boy cautiously running to Chris’s left. “I’m Sam by the way,” he remarked, extending his hand.

            “Chris,” the quarterback replied. Despite his short rest, he was still struggling for breath on the run. Sam, on the other hand, was strolling casually. Although he was short, his long legs allowed him to amble along gracefully, eating up the road with ease. Occasionally, he would drift a couple steps ahead of the struggling newcomer and, after a moment of realization, slow himself back to even position.

            “You don’t have to do that you know,” Chris said after Sam jolted back to his shoulder for a third time. “I don’t wanna … mess up your run or … whatever.” He felt embarrassed. Even the tiny freshman was running circles around him. He didn’t belong here.

            “No it’s fine, I-today’s a recovery day for me so-,” he fumbled through his excuse, again drifting a step or two ahead. “You know … at my first practice, we went to this park called Liberty Park. And we were supposed to do this, like, ‘hilly’ run.” Pausing for a second, Sam pointed to the left and directed the pair down a side street. “It went so bad. I got lost in some back woods or something and Coach had to send out a-a search patrol just to find me.” He laughed.

“I went home that day and I told my mom I was never going back.” Sam looked off in the distance, not meeting eye contact with Chris. He scanned the road ahead for cars, before leading the way across the street.

            “So why did you?” Chris asked after a moment’s silence.

            “Because I don’t give up easily.” He replied simply. They turned up another familiar looking street and Chris spotted the high school gymnasium in the distance. “Most of my life, people have been telling me that I can’t do something. I’m too short or too small or too weak. I couldn’t help those things-I can’t control how tall I am …. But if I had quit, I can’t blame that on genetics or fate. I’d just be a wimp. I’d just be … the puny, weak little kid that everybody else sees me as.”

Lost in emotion, Sam was continuing to absentmindedly increase his pace, but, with a newfound resolve, Chris forced himself to keep up. Eventually, they reached their finish line, stopping a few feet from a crowd of runners waiting by the grass, unlacing their shoes. As they walked to the pack of runners, Sam raised his hand for a high five.

“Good run, Chris.” Their hands met in the air.

“Thanks Sam, you too.” Saying the runner’s name out loud trigged a memory from inside Chris’s head from the beginning of practice. “Hey … is it true that you-you kicked a guy?”

“Kicked a guy?” Sam looked at him, confused.

“Like in a race, Mr. Finley-er-Coach Finley-said something about it during practice …”

“Ohhhh … you mean out-kicked a guy?”

Chris looked back, still completely lost. “Was it like a competition? How much kicking goes on during Cross Country? Can you kick and run at the same time?”

Sam smiled widely, struggling to hold back a fit of laughter. “No a kick is like … it’s like a sprint at the end of a race … it’s just some runner jargon. You’ll pick it up.” When they reached their teammates, Sam dropped to the ground and began to untie his shoes. Most of the runners were, for some reason, sprinting barefoot across the soccer field.

This sport makes no sense.

Jimmy Springer, September 2016

            During the fall semester at Union Valley, the physical education department administered their school wide fitness testing. The testing had four components, push-ups, pull-ups, flexibility and a one-mile run. These exercises made up the basis used by each teacher when providing their classes with grades. As a freshman and sophomore, Jimmy Springer had been tops in his class in the fitness testing, reveling in the opportunity to prove himself. But now he had outgrown that stage of his life, realizing how pointless the process really was. If he put in a minimum effort, he could still string together a solid C+ and that was plenty good. Besides, he didn’t want to look like a try-hard in front of his friends.

            “Yo Jim, just heard your mom’s going out of town this weekend?” The second bell rang as Jimmy entered the locker room, wandering over to join his two friends dawdling in the corner.

            “Yeah man, I’ve got an open house,” Jimmy replied as he approached, taking off his back pack and pulling out a pair of blue mesh shorts with an orange cotton top. “She thinks I’m gonna be staying at my dad’s.” He unbuttoned his shirt and replaced it with the uniform he had just removed. “Did your brother go back to college yet, Smitty?”

            “No, he’s here until Friday,” the boy to Jimmy’s right responded with a mischievous grin. “I can get him to pick us up something before he goes back.” He stood wearing a pair of baggy, tan cargo shorts rather than the blue mesh ones that Jimmy had just pulled up around his waist.

            “Alright sweet,” Together the trio exited the locker room, unenthusiastically joining their classmates inside the gymnasium. “Just keep things chill alright, I’m not trying to mess my mom’s place up. She’d flip at me if she found out …” He trailed off as the conversation around him died away. Entering in through the front doors was Union Valley’s new gym teacher: Mr. Ned Wall.

            Mr. Wall was short, probably a good six inches shorter than Jimmy, but powerfully built with a defined, muscular physique. His face was hairless, with a shaved head to match his cleanly cut face. A whistle hung around his neck and a clipboard was tucked under his left arm. He was certainly younger than their previous teacher, but also had a much more intimidating demeanor. With nothing more than a soft cough, he had the attention of the majority of the room. Slowly, he began to take attendance. As he announced each student, he stared at them for a full second in silence, apparently trying to help himself remember the face that matched to each name.

            “… Riley Joseph? …”

            Riley was one of Jimmy’s best friends at Union Valley. The pair had met in history class the previous year and had become incredibly close during the spring. He was slightly shorter than Jimmy and much thinner and less muscular. He had played basketball as a freshman, but chose not to try out for the team as a sophomore. Upon hearing his name, he raised his hand to acknowledge his presence. Mr. Wall considered him briefly before returning his gaze to his clipboard.

            “Kind of a serious, dude, huh?” Riley whispered to Jimmy through the corner of his mouth, “Smitty’s gonna get along great with him.”

            “… Corey Smith? …”

            Corey was another of Jimmy’s closer friends. The pair became friendly through Riley, who had been friends with Corey since elementary school. Corey was shorter than both his companions with dark, buzzed hair and slightly hooded eyes. He showed signs of once being fit and strong, but his body was beginning to transform into a fatter, doughier mold.

            “Forget your shorts, Mr. Smith?” Mr. Wall asked, examining Corey’s shorts.

            “Something like that yeah,” he smirked in reply.

            “Remember them next time, please, or I’ll have to take points from you.” Mr. Wall responded calmly. He made a small check mark on his clipboard, but otherwise paid Smith’s violation no attention.

            “ … Jimmy Springer? …”

            Jimmy raised his hand in response while his new teacher studied him. For some reason, he felt he had received an extra-long inspection from Mr. Wall.

            When attendance was complete, the class was asked to take a five minute jog around the perimeter of the gym to warm up for the day’s activities. The trio plodded through what was a painfully deliberate pace for Jimmy, who forced himself to slow down in order to talk with his two friends.

            “I heard there’s a huge party planned in a couple weeks,” Corey said. “My cousin told me it’s a can’t miss.”

            “Yeah, I remember you mentioning that one. Kid’s got like a mansion or something right?”

            “Yeah bro, it’s gonna be dope … Speaking of which, Spring, are you in for today after school?”

            “Nah, I got practice so-”

            “Practice? Man, you should just quit that team … I’m telling you, once you try this for the first time, you’ll be wishing you had listened to me sooner.”

            Eventually, Mr. Wall’s whistle signaled the end of the jog. Both Riley and Corey were slightly out of breath as the class joined up at center court. Here, they were motioned to take a seat on the floor, facing one of the gym’s pull up bars.

            “Now during our first couple classes, I’d like to have all of you try each piece of the fitness testing,” Mr. Wall explained to the group once they were settled, “this way everyone has a baseline score they can try and improve upon.” The class sat apathetically as he pressed on. “So let’s get started! Allenby, you’re up first …”

            A short, round boy with glasses stepped up to the bar first. After completing two pull-ups, the next student alphabetically was called up and the cycle continued. Amidst the continuous rotation, a few patches of conversation broke out along the floor.

            “So who exactly are we inviting this weekend?” Corey asked as the pull-ups cycled into the “D” section of the alphabet.

            “I’ll talk to Cunningham, he will almost definitely wanna come.” Riley replied confidently. “And since he’s hooking up with that Taylor chick, he could probably get some girls to come by, too.”

            “Yo, see if he can get that girl Sara from our Chem class.”

            “What are you smoking, bro, isn’t she the one with the horse face?”

            “Nah dude, you’re thinking of Sarah with the ‘h’, I’m talking about Sara without the ‘h’ … Spring, back me up on this …”

            “What was that?” Jimmy hadn’t been paying much attention to the other two. He had, instead, been keeping track of the current pull-up leaders in the class (Rodney Davies and Craig Bush were tied at seven). That had captivated his attention better than the chauvinistic talk of his compatriots. “Um, yeah there are two Sarahs in Chem, but I haven’t really been taking notice of the spelling …”

            “Well, I’ll tell you what I have been taking notice of …”

            “Joseph! You’re up!”

            Riley walked with a slight strut up to the pull-up bar, fixing his shirt slightly and adjusting his pants. He completed the first two pull-ups with relative ease, but on the third he struggled. His face screwed up slightly with effort, but in a flash it vanished and his feet were on the ground. He turned coolly to face the crowd and, with a smug smile, made his way back to his seat.

            “It’s such a stupid test, you know?” he remarked as he rejoined his friends, “Like obviously I could do ten of these if I wanted to, but why would I want to get all sweaty for the rest of the day?”

            A few moments later, Corey duplicated Riley’s feat with two pull-ups of his own. Then, immediately afterwards, it was Jimmy’s turn to try. He approached, slightly nervous, lacking the cool and collected swagger of his two comrades.  Gripping the bar tightly, he pulled himself off the ground. With a strong, powerful effort, Springer rolled through an easy five pull-ups. Three more would be tops in the class. He paused for a second as he began his sixth repetition and then, after a moment’s thought, relaxed and let himself drop to the ground. It’s a stupid test anyway.

            After everyone had finished taking their turn at the pull-up bar, the class disseminated into the locker room to change back into their school clothes. Jimmy absentmindedly changed his clothes, half-listening to his friends continued discussion, half-lost in his own thoughts. Once they had each finished, the trio trekked back into the hallways for next period, walking back in front of the gymnasium’s front doors.

            “Springer, can you come here for a second?” Mr. Wall had called him aside from the throng of students filling the corridor. Jimmy gave a questioning look to his friends, before nodding a good-bye. Then, with a small pit in his stomach, he approached Union Valley’s newest faculty member.

            “What’s up?” He tried to act nonchalant, but, despite his efforts, his voice shook slightly.

            “Why did you stop, Springer?” Mr. Wall asked, staring intently at his student.

            “Well … you just called me over,” Jimmy said, looking puzzled, “So I thought you wanted to-”

            “No, I mean, why did you stop earlier? During the pull-ups?”

            Looking guilty, Jimmy’s eyes darted to his feet. “I-I got tired, I guess. Same as anybody else.”

            “Look, I know you want to try and act cool in front of your friends, but that’s no reason to hold back. You shouldn’t have to feel ashamed or embarrassed about your gifts.” He spoke warmly, but Jimmy’s response was ice cold.

            “What, do you get a bonus for having the highest scoring kids in your class or something?”

            “No, of course not-”

            “Well then what the heck does it matter to you what I do?” And he turned, just as the second bell rang, leaving a slightly stunned gym teacher in his wake.