The Running Diaries: Chapter Twenty Two

Chapter Twenty Two

Ben Havleck, May 2016
He was sprinting as hard as he could. He tried to focus as best he could on his form. Arms pumping. Head steady. His legs turned over again and again. His quads burned. Then he stopped, tapping his wrist and easing into a slow walk.
What was it, he wondered as he looked down. His watch read 30.6 seconds. Ok, fine. I'll work down to it.
Ben jogged slowly back to his starting position halfway around the track. His breathing returned to normal almost instantly. His legs weren't quite as resilient, but the jogging helped keep them from tightening. Just before the 200 meter mark, he slowed to a walk. Then, steadying himself, he started another repetition.
30.2 seconds.
He plodded back around the track. Alright, this will be the one.
30.4 seconds.
His frustration increased as he started his recovery jog again. Ok, you aren't doing more than 4 of these, so this one has to be under.
30.1 seconds.
Fine, one more. But that's it.
30.3.
30.6.
He slapped his hands together in anger. His temper was rising, his heart already pumping blood through his body at an elevated rate. Despite his reservations about over working himself, he jogged again around the bend and back to the track's halfway point. His legs felt like rubber, but his determination had blocked out his fatigue.
Just as he had six times before, he readied himself at the start and took off into a sprint. This time, he threw all of his thoughts about control and technique out the window. He didn't think about proper running form or pacing. The only thought racing through his mind was “faster”. Every 50 meters he tried to dig down and force himself into another gear.
As he approached the finish line, he thrust his body forward into a dramatic lean, stopping his watch with his opposite hand. The weight of his body on his extended leg caused it to buckle and he stumbled, falling wildly forward with his arms flailing. He rolled off the track onto the inside turf, managing to avoid any serious cuts. His body ached and his chest pounded up and down as he reoriented himself. Then, he checked his watch for the time.
30.03 seconds.
"Damn it!" He whipped off his watch and threw it as hard as he could down across the football field. He watched it bounce simply on the turf. It was not nearly as satisfying as he had hoped.

Chris Cline, September 2016
            Human beings in a mob … what’s a mob to a king? … what’s a king to a god? … what’s a god to a non-believer? … who don’t believe in … anything? … Make it out alive … All right, all right … No church in the wild …
            Chris sat on the cross country locker room’s bench, untying his shoes. Leaning forward, he picked away at the laces, letting them fall across his feet. As he sat, the music wash over him as he absentmindedly pulled a change of clothes from his duffle bag.
            I’m out chere’ ballin’, I know y’all hear my sneaks … Jesus was a carptenter, Yeezy laid beats … Hova flow the Holy Ghost, get the hell up out  your seats … Preach …
            A few of his teammates were changing as well, but Chris chose to keep to himself. He still felt awkward talking to most of the North runners with the exception of freshmen Sam Wikler and Connor McIntyre. And seeing how Connor didn’t talk back, that left only one peer he could have a conversation with.
            We formed a new religion … no sins as long as there’s permission … and deception is the only felony … to never f-
            “Ouch!” Someone had pulled the headphones straight from his ears. He whirled around angrily, “Hey, what the-” But he stopped short as he looked up into the face of the head football coach.
            “No headphones while in school buildings, Cline, you should know better,” Coach Groff said gruffly, tossing the earbuds at Chris’s untied shoes. His former quarterback looked back frustrated. In the section of the locker room immediately across from his, he could see Jacob Naughton’s large “Beats” headphones perched over his ears. “Now,” Coach Groff said turning away from Chris to address the group at large, “I’m going to need all of the cross country runners to move to the hallway.”
            “You’re kidding, right?” One of Chris’s new teammates, Andy Eggleston, said, eyebrows raised. He stood in a pair of boxers and a shirt.
            Coach Groff looked back at him darkly. “The football team needs this space today. We’ve already cleared it with the AD. Your coach should have told you about this hours ago, honestly. Would have saved you some trouble.” With some grumbling the runners started to throw their essential materials into bags. Chris, however, stayed put, his shoes still untied.
            “I’m sorry, Cline, are your ears as broken as your hand?” Coach Groff said sarcastically. “Let’s get on a move on.”
            “Why do you need the space?” He said, trying to keep his voice as even as possible.
            “Well, that’s certainly none of your business.”
“Well, seeing as this is our locker room, I think it’s at least some of my business.” Chris said, unable to completely hide his attitude. A couple sophomores had scurried quickly for the hallway, but the few remaining upperclassmen were now slowing their packing, hoping to catch more of the argument.
            “What did you just say to me, Cline?” Coach Groff said in a quiet, angry voice. He moved his face closer to Chris’s. The room had become quiet and tense. But Chris stared back defiant and unintimidated.
            “Soccer is at an away game, can’t you just use theirs?”
“Cline-” Coach Groff tried to cut across him, his voice beginning to regain some of its earlier vigor.
“I just don’t get why it’s our team that has to-”
Coach Groff let out a harsh, booming laugh that sent shivers down Chris’s spine. “Our team is it?” Coach Groff said with an evil grin. “Funny, Cline, I used to think our team was my team. Are you a cross country runner now?”
“Well …” Chris said, a bit less fight in his voice now, “I just want-
“Well, if you want to be playing anything this year, I suggGEST YOU GET THE HELL OUT OF THIS LOCKER ROOM!” Coach Groff shouted. Begrudgingly, Chris accepted the loss rather than risk any further damage. Fuming, he tossed his clothes in his bag and stormed form the locker room. “AND THAT GOES FOR ALL OF YOU!”
Chris’s teammates hurried along behind him, Andy still only in his boxers.

The West Chester North Cross Country team changed in the bathroom that afternoon and then continued practice as usual, setting out on a standard distance run through the neighborhoods. The team had a league meet scheduled the next day, so Coach Finley instructed them to keep the pace controlled. This request, combined with Chris’s own consistently increasing fitness, meant that he found himself running with the largest group since his disastrous first run. Leading the way within his pack were juniors Andy Eggleston and Matt Schmidt. Then a trio of sophomores, Caleb Collins, Alex Robinson and Nick Meyers. They were followed by a group of four: Chris, comfortably jogging in the middle of the team’s three freshmen. A unit of varsity runners trekked off on a farther, faster loop while the remaining members of the JV team splintered down a side street Chris had yet to traverse.
The pack started out quiet, but eventually they began to discuss what Chris had been waiting to hear.
“So what do you think it was this time?” Matt said, looking across at his friend, “Worried we have a spy on our team that’s going to sell their secrets to Downingtown West?”
“You know it’s always something,” Andy said frustrated, “Getting kicked out of the weight room. Getting kicked off the track. And when we try to fight back? We get our ass kicked.” He aggressively spit on the side of the road. A couple of the sophomores gave not so covert looks over their shoulder at Chris, trying to gauge his reaction. Feeling awkward, he just smiled back at them.
“Why doesn’t Coach do anything about this crap?” Alex Robinson asked, moving up to Andy’s shoulder.
“Because Groff has the Athletic Director’s social security number or something,” Matt replied bitterly.
“You kidding?” Andy piled on, “You know how much money the football team has been pulling in recently? Remember how crowded that game was on Friday night? They’re ‘Wolf of Wall Street’-ing hard core right now. No way they’re gonna do anything to rock the boat. Especially if they only have to ‘inconvenience’ the cross country team.” He finished with disgust.
Sam looked at Chris nervously. The former football standout looked back at the freshman and flashed a halfhearted smile. Some actions, especially those of his coach, he knew he would not be able to defend. But he also didn’t like the idea of his sport being berated by his new teammates. After a few seconds of silence, he decided it was time to speak up. He coughed softly, nervously clearing his throat.
Before he could voice his opinion, Andy spoke up again. “But that’s all about to change now,” he said dramatically. “We’ve got one of them on our side. Isn’t that right, Chris?” He looked back over his shoulder and gave the quarterback a toothy grin. The other runners turned to watch him as well. They stared at him attentively, as if they had wanted to study him like this since his arrival on the team but had not been permitted to until the moment he was first directly acknowledged.
“Uh … yeah,” Chris said softly. “I guess so.”
“Wait, what happened?” Matt asked enthusiastically.
“Well, Chris and I were in the locker room with Alex, Nick and some of the other guys,” Andy said, reveling in the opportunity to be a storyteller, “And Coach Groff comes flying in like a mad man, trying to kick us out for whatever reason.”
“Roid rage.”
“Meanwhile, Chris just sits there, stone faced and is just like ‘Eff you Groff, why the hell should we listen to you?’ Honestly, I thought they were going to get in a fight. And so I’m just standing there in my sailor boxers with my mouth wide open trying to decide what to do if they roll towards me mid-kerfuffle.”
Chris laughed lightly with the rest of the team, his previous tension slowly dissipating. “Then what happened?” Matt asked, sounding like a little kid excited by his bed time story.
“Well, then Coach Groff screamed a lot and I ran out of there like a scared little girl.”
“Did you at least put on pants first?”
“Certainly not.” Everyone laughed again, particularly those who were not there to witness the scene in person, “But it’s OK, I got a date with Ms. O’Connor out of it.”
“Andy, I’m pretty sure that was a detention.” Alex said as the group roared further into glee, “And those are with Vice Principal Hield.”
“Well, you just hate to see that.”

Ben Havleck, May 2016
He ran alone down the road, rain falling down gently onto his warm body. His path was essentially empty, the neighborhood’s casual joggers were shut in, waiting for better weather. Ben ran his hand through his long, wet hair absentmindedly, moving it back off his face.
As he ran, his mind jumped through what he remembered from his last race. He was surging to the lead, enjoying the rush that came with flying down the back straightaway and seeing no one in front of him. Then in a flash it was gone, a pair of sprinting bodies motoring past. His best efforts to keep pace were futile. It angered him to feel so helpless. Without realizing, he ticked down another gear as he jogged further along the road.
Ben turned left, ran past a small playground and then hooked right. Now he was on a long, straight avenue. Even in the rain, he could see far ahead of him, down the dark, dreary street. Another jogger was plodding along slowly maybe 150 meters away. Automatically, his mind went into attack mode and Ben shifted into chase mode. It was an exercise he had done at least a hundred times. Whenever someone was running ahead of him in the neighborhood, regardless of ability, he felt an uncontrollable urge to pass them. In a race, he would pace himself carefully and he had accepted the fact that he would often be trailing someone throughout the contest. But out here? This was his kingdom and only he was fit enough to rule.
Once more, Ben quickened his stride turnover with his eyes fixed on his target ahead. He was expecting a quick pass, but every time he cut into the gap, it seemed like the jogger would change pace and force Ben to access another gear.
As the straightaway ended, Ben could hear his own breathing becoming increasingly strained. His originally scheduled route called for a left at the end of the block, but the jogger he was doggedly pursuing turned right. So, naturally, Ben made a right, continuing to indulge his competitive instincts. They ran onto a wooded trail between rows of tall trees. The rain still occasionally split the cover and dropped upon the two runners, but Ben trekked through the elements unperturbed. He was getting close now. A few more hard steps and he would be within arm’s reach. Ben prepared himself to make the pass on the narrow trail, but again the jogger surged smoothly ahead. He put his head down and forced his legs to find an extra gear. He was hurting now. He could feel his head return to its familiar flailing, rallying for another try at the front. But as he swung wide again, his foot clipped a stray root and he flew forward, crashing onto the hard ground.
He lay there, his heart pounding in his chest as if it was trying to punch the earth. Now that he had stopped he realized how incredibly labored his breathing was.
“You alright?” It was a gruff voice from just in front of him. He spoke easily and steadily, as if he had been standing rather than running. Ben looked up for the first time at the jogger’s face. The man removed the hood of his rain jacket to reveal a head of graying hair.
“You're old?!” Ben exclaimed in exasperation. “Er-sorry,” he said realizing how rude he must sound. To his surprise the man laughed.
“I think the politically correct term is youthfully challenged,” he said extending his hand to the boy on the ground. “Where you heading back to? I'll jog with you.”
Moving at a more reasonable pace, the duo jogged side by side to the opening of the trail and then looped back toward Ben’s house.
“So who do you run for?” The man asked, scanning Ben for any school insignia.
“I run for Bloomsburg.”
“BU? This is pretty far for you isn't it?”
“No, Bloomsburg High School,” Ben replied, pointing the man toward their next turn.
“But that’s impossible, there’s no team here, unless … are you by chance Ben Havleck?”
“Yeah, I am,” he replied, pleasantly surprised, “How did you-”
“There's only one high schooler in Bloomsburg who could run the pace we were running.” Ben looked down, slightly embarrassed. He saw a small lady bug crawling along his muddy chest. Carefully, he picked it off his shirt and lifted his finger to the air, letting it fly away. “Third in the state. That's pretty good.”
“Third for small schools,” Ben replied bitterly. “That's not third in the state. Most of the top guys run the large school races.”
“Well there’s a reason for those classifications. There are certain advantages a school like Coatesville has over the tiny programs. More money, better facilities-”
“An actual coach,” Ben cut in, “They've got a guy who coached Olympians out there and I'm just winging it off some Matt McWilliams book.”
The man smiled to himself as if sharing some private joke.
“What?” Ben asked confused.
“You remind me a lot of myself is all,” the man replied. They turned onto Ben's block. The aching in his legs made him grateful to be close. To his amazement, the jogger to his outside seemed completely fresh.
“Well this is me right up here,” Ben said, pointing to his house. “Maybe we can meet up again some time for a run? I do things mostly by myself.”
“I have a feeling we will see each other around,” the man said. Ben slowed to a stop at the edge of his lawn as the man continued past. “Good bye, Ben.”
“Good bye ... um ...”
“Sorry, I should have introduced myself sooner. I'm Matt. Matt McWilliams.”

Chris Cline, September 2016
            “Alright, so-it’s kind of like golf?”
            “Probably the only similarity we have with golf, but yes.”
            “OK, so the race ends. You add up the places of the top seven guys-”
            “Top five guys.”
            “Then-wait-what was the significance of the top seven?”
            “The top seven guys can displace. But only the top five can score.”
            “Displace. Right. I think I’ve got it. I just need you to tell me everything again from the beginning. But slower.”
            Chris and Sam walked along the perimeter of the park along the tree line. The freshman was holding a brown clipboard on which he had created a row of names in a 16 by 3 grid. The senior wore a stop watch around his neck that bounced gently on his chest as he walked. The duo was in charge of collecting the splits of their West Chester North teammates as they ran past the one-mile, two-mile and finish line.
            Today was the first Cross Country meet that Chris had ever attended and, based on the heightened energy around the team, it was a significant one. West Chester North was facing off against Great Valley, one of the best teams in the league. Chris didn’t think much of their football program, but apparently they a strong history of producing talented distance runners. The previous season, Great Valley had nipped North by a single point to grab the final qualifying spot from their district for the Pennsylvania State Championships. This race would be about revenge.
            Despite the importance of the competition, Coach Finley had elected to rest four of his runners, not only Sam and Chris, but also juniors Andy Eggleston and Matt Schmidt. Instead of racing, the quad of runners had done a short run and some 200-meter short intervals on the track to help refine their speed. Andy was quite quick and led the repetitions, but Chris had been able to stay with him for each one. On their final sprint, they put nearly five seconds on Matt and Sam.
            The remaining West Chester North boys were gathered close to the start line, completing their final pre-race strides. They were dressed in white singlets that featured a maroon “N” in the center of the jersey. Clustered in the space alongside them, were their opponents from Great Valley. They sported dark blue jerseys that said “Patriots” across the chest in bold black lettering.
            As Chris watched the teams prepare, a particularly tall and lanky looking runner from the enemy camp caught his eye. His stride was effortless, yet he covered ground quickly, gliding ahead of his teammates with tremendous ease.
            “Who is that?” Chris asked, pointing at the runner as the gangly figure turned and called for his teammates to huddle around him at the center of the field.
            “The tall guy?” Sam squinted out across the grass. “No clue. We haven’t raced these guys yet this year.”
            “He looks pretty fast.”
            “That’s ‘cause he is.” Andy and Matt emerged behind them. They had been helping Coach Finley properly line and cone the course within the park’s trees. “That’s Greg Zeimek. Kid split 1:53 last year at Ches-monts.”  Although Chris didn’t understand what those numbers implied, he could tell from Andy’s tone that it was impressive. He could also tell that Andy clearly didn’t like him.
            “I hate that guy.” And apparently Matt felt the same way. “Look at him, just prancing around, like, ‘Oh I’m king of the castle, let all of my knights bow at my round table.’ Well this is America, sir, and we don’t believe in castles here.”
            “I probably would have went with ‘we don’t believe in kings here’.”
            “That’s why you’ll never be as funny as me, Andy.”
            A man in an orange official shirt trekked out to the middle of the starting area and corralled the runners back toward the starting line to prepare everyone for the start of the race. From all sides of the stripe, the runners filed into position. They alternated every other jersey; first Zeimek for Great Valley, then Captain Will Aldrich for North, another Great Valley runner, and so on. Ten runners made up the first row, then the others were free to fill in wherever they saw fit.
            The official paced out some fourty yards from the group once everyone was in position. He pulled out what appeared to be a gun and began fidgeting with it at his side.
            “Does that guy have a gun?” Chris said, slightly concerned. He looked around at his teammates hoping for some type of illumination. The official now raised the pistol straight above his head and called for the runners to get set. 
            “Dude, get the stop watch ready!” Andy exclaimed, tapping Chris enthusiastically on the back with his left hand before raising it back to an anticipatory position over his right wrist. Now thoroughly confused, Chris picked up the watch hanging from his neck. The official fired the gun into the air and the runners took off. Around him, three watches beeped. Catching on a moment later, Chris clicked his own start button and watched as the seconds began to tick across the screen.
            On the grass ahead, the runners jockeyed for position as the course began to narrow. Will positioned himself at the front with Zeimek right on his heels. A pair of Great Valley runners were in second and third, but a massive pack of Warriors had settled in on their heels.
            “C’mon,” Sam called tugging at Chris’s shirt. Andy and Matt had skirted away through the trees. “We have to get to the mile mark for splits.” Together they followed the path their teammates had carved out before them, weaving through plants and tree roots. Sam ducked carefully under a branch that flung back and smacked Chris in the face. He tasted pine needles briefly in his mouth.
            Eventually, they reached the clearing and wandered over to join the pair of juniors positioned at a spray painted white line on the trail. A bold, white number one was painted just beneath it. Just up the trail stood a brown haired girl with glasses and a clipboard accompanied by a slightly taller, older looking man. He held a stop watch like Chris and was examining it closely. They each wore blue shirts that had “Great Valley” printed on the front.
            “They should be here in another minute or so,” the taller man said quietly to the girl beside him. “I’ll just read off times from my watch and you can write them down for each runner.” Chris noticed this was the exact same task Coach Finley had given to him and Sam. I guess getting these ‘splits’ is kinda important …
            After a moment’s waiting, the first competitors came into view. Will Aldrich of West Chester North was controlling the race from the front. He looked relaxed and poised as he passed the duo. Chris read from his watch aloud, “5 minutes, 5:01, 5:02 …” Great Valley’s top runner was just behind and then a small gap. After a brief pause, the quad of North supporters erupted into cheers as a pack of six Warriors came into view. They were joined by just one Great Valley Patriot, although two more came past three to four seconds later. “5:15 … 5:16 … 5:17 …”
            In total some thirty runners came past them. Chris was impressed by the times he was reading from his watch as they passed. “6:10 … 6:11 … 6:12 …” Even the slowest members of the group came through faster than seven minutes for the first mile. “6:28 … 6:29 … 6:30 …” In gym class, Chris remembered running 6 minutes and 30 seconds for the school’s fitness testing program. It had taken a fair amount of stamina and he certainly couldn’t imagine maintaining that pace for over three miles. But that was before I started training, he thought to himself. You can do this; you just need to stay confident.
            Eventually, once all of the North runners had passed, Chris followed his teammates to the two-mile marker. Fortunately, this spot was close to their current position and required little navigating through bushes and trees. They arrived with five or so minutes to spare. Andy and Matt stood a few feet away, discussing something quietly, while Chris and Sam chatted about the race.
            “Looks like the guys are running pretty well,” Sam said, looking down the splits on his clipboard. “I think our course is pretty quick.”
            “Yeah, it doesn’t seem too hilly. Footing isn’t bad.” He looked down at his feet and tapped the ground as if to confirm it. “Any idea why Coach decided not to race us?”
            “I’m not sure. He probably wants to keep us fresh. Coach is always stressing to us how long the season is.”
            “Yeah, I guess so. I just feel like he keeps babying me, you know? Like I know I’m not going to be good right away or anything, but I want to at least get out there and try. Prove I’m up for the challenge.” He thought back to the mile splits he had called out a few minutes earlier. Prove I belong.
            “Alright, Chris,” Matt said piping in for the first time, “Since you asked, I’ve got a challenge for you.”
            “Go for it,” Chris said, slightly apprehensively. Although he had not been a member of the team very long, he had quickly deduced that Matt and Andy were two of the more fun loving runners on the roster. They enjoyed a good joke and weren’t afraid to put themselves out there and risk looking silly.
            “You’ve been here-what-a week?”
            “Basically, yeah.”
            “I want you to give me the names of every one of our runners when they come by. And if you can’t,” he looked sideways at Andy who smiled and gave a small nod, “then you have to introduce us to the cheerleading squad.”
            “And like a good intro too. Maybe call us your best friends or the top two runners on the team or something.” Andy added.
            “Feel free to get creative.”
            “And what do you have to do if I win?” Chris asked with a small grin.
            “Fair question. You’re not going to win. But certainly a fair question.” Matt stroked his chin in thought for a moment. “What is it that you would want us to do?”
            “I don’t know …” Chris said, looking around the wooded trail. He spotted the girl with the clipboard approaching in the distance. “You could try and get that girl’s number?” He said, pointing covertly.
            “Get a girl’s number? What are we in fifth grade? C’mon Chris, I expected more from you.”
            “Besides, he already struck out with her last week.” Andy muttered barely audible under his breath. Matt elbowed him in the chest as Sam snickered.
            “Alright …” Chris said amused. “How about … if I win, you guys have to hitch hike back to school today after the meet … with a complete stranger?”
            This new punishment seemed to get the pair’s attention. Matt leaned in close to Andy and discussed the terms in a whisper. After brief deliberation, Matt stuck out his hand for Chris to shake. “We accept your proposal. First and last name. Each runner.”
“No helping, Sam.” Andy added.
“Deal,” Chris shook with Matt and then Andy. Small cheers from up ahead signaled the runners were nearing the two-mile mark. Breaking into view was North’s first runner who had opened up almost a five second lead on his top pursuer. “Alright … this is Will. Will Aldrich. He’s in my year.” Will approached, looking strong and powerful.
            “Don’t forget the splits!” Sam exclaimed as he realized Chris’s distraction.
            “Right, um,” he fumbled quickly with the stop watch around his neck.
            “10:17 … 10:18 … 10:19 …” Andy called from behind him as Will passed through. Then he turned to Chris and patted him on the back. “I’ll take care of the splits; you just get us those names.” Chris nodded appreciatively and turned his attention back up the trail, looking for the next white singlet. After Great Valley’s top runner (a slightly tired looking Greg Zeimek) passed, Cline noticed a red headed boy in the distance.  Then, maybe a three second gap. Behind him was a taller runner, just over six feet, with long brown hair and matching stubble on his face. He was accompanied by a short, muscular runner with darker hair. Then, a Great Valley runner, who was just off his shoulder trying to hang on.
            “OK so the red head, that’s Brandon McGee … And then the taller one is Lowry. Jack Lowry. And the shorter one that’s … um …” Chris paused for a second, waiting until he could get a closer look.
            “10:38 … 10:42 … 10:44 …”
            “C’mon Jack! C’mon Travis!” Matt cheered just behind him.
            “Dude what are you doing?” Andy said angrily. “Don’t give away any answers!”
            “Sorry dude,” Matt said embarrassed, “I forgot. Just wanted to cheer on our guys.” He turned to Chris. “Alright, so we gave you the first name for free. What’s Travis’s last name?”
            Chris looked at him skeptically. “The shorter one is Austin Lynch.” He said, the name finally coming back to him. “There’s nobody on our team named Travis …”
            Matt shrugged his shoulders. “What, did you think we weren’t gonna at least try and mess you up?”
            One by one the runners filed by, some struggling to keep their pace, others powering past quickly. “That’s Mike Rykken, the shorter one with the chin hair. And then that’s Ricky Collins. He and Will are the two captains. Ricky’s pretty smart if I remember correctly, isn’t he going to Dartmouth or something?”
            “Chris, there’s no bonus points for mother’s maiden name,” Andy said jokingly, “We just need first and last.”
            “You getting nervous?” Chris replied playfully. He continued to name the runners as they passed. “Kenny Brown … Caleb Collins … Luke Wall …” Until the last runners came through the marker, “Nick Meyers … Thomas Partridge …That’s everybody right?” Chris said as he turned to run back towards the finish line for the race’s conclusion. “So I win?”
            “Not quite, yet,” Andy replied. “Sam, can you jog by real quick?”
            “Um … ok,” Sam said uncertainly and he jogged along the path his teammates had just passed through.
            “Alright, Chris … first and last name?” Matt asked.
            “You guys are kidding, right?” he responded with a laugh. “He’s the only kid on the team I actually talk to … Sa-”
            “Wait-” the freshman tried to interject, but it was too late.
            “-m Wikler.” Chris finished, now looking at his friend confused. “What’s wrong?” He asked as Matt and Andy grinned mischievously.
            “Sam’s my middle name,” he said, crestfallen. Chris’s smile disappeared. “My first name is … Wendell.”
            “Wendell Wikler?”
            “You can see why he doesn’t use it,” Andy said, walking over and putting his hand on Chris’s shoulder. “My associate will be in touch with my updated calendar.” Matt scribbled his phone number on the clipboard that Sam was holding.
            “Call me,” he said, putting a hand on Chris’s shoulder just as Andy had. Then they ran off together toward the finish line, rushing to try and make it back in time to see the finish. Chris and Sam followed briskly in their wake.
            “Sorry, Chris,” Sam said as they jogged, taking a shortcut through some trees.
            “No need to apologize to me,” he said, avoiding a few low hanging branches, “The cheerleaders on the other hand … you may need to apologize to them.”
            The foursome emerged into the field near the finish line just in time to watch the first runners come sprinting off the final turn. Will Aldrich for West Chester North was in the lead, but Great Valley’s Greg Zeimek was rallying right alongside him. Then, with about fifty meters to go, Zeimek found one extra gear and sprinted clear of Aldrich, crossing the line first.
            “Shoot,” Andy muttered angrily, “I hate that kid.”
            “I thought Will would be able to take him,” Matt said, surprised, “He never gets outkicked like that.”
            “Well with Greg just sitting on him all race, what else was gonna happen.” His bitter tone turned quickly as a pair of North runners came flying into view. “Yeah, boys! Let’s go Brandon! Let’s go Jack!” The two Warriors were well clear of the closest Patriot pursuer and crossed the line comfortably in 3rd and 4th place.
            “And there’s Austin and Ricky!” Matt shouted. Just behind the second Patriot were two more Warriors, sprinting furiously toward the finish line. “So that’s 2nd, 3rd, 4th, 6th and 7th. Who is good at math?”
            “22 points,” Andy replied quickly, “Doesn’t matter how the rest of this one plays out, we’ve clinched the win.” He and Matt high-fived. “Great Valley? More like … Slightly Above Average Valley!”
            “Got ‘em!” They high-fived again as Sam and Chris laughed. With the victory safely in hand, they turned back to the course to cheer for the rest of their teammates. Despite the fact that the meet was already decided, Sam, Andy and Matt cheered just as enthusiastically as they had for the scoring members of the team. In fact, they seemed to actually be more excited by the results of the junior varsity runners. For Chris, this was a pleasant surprise. Apparently, a cross country team’s benchwarmers were just as loved and respected as their stars. Slowly, he let himself become engulfed by the fervor.
            By the time, freshman Connor McIntyre came into view, battling stride for stride with an enemy from Great Valley, Chris was screaming himself hoarse. He waved his arm wildly as the freshman sprinted ahead, agony streaked across his face. “Dig, Connor! Dig! Gooo!”
            As he crossed the line, Andy split his watch. “18:52!”
            “Is that good?” Chris asked hopefully.
            “That’s like a 30 second PR for him!” Sam said gleefully.
            “So …” Chris looked around, still confused, this time by the term “PR”.
            “PR means Personal Record. So that means he ran the best race of his life by 30 seconds.”
            “And … 30 seconds is a lot, right?”
            “It’s probably worth like 50 yards passing.”
            “Now we’re talking,” Chris said with a smile. And he jogged over to visit the freshman, who was standing with his hands on his knees. “Awesome run!” He said slapping the youngster on the back. Connor looked up at him and beamed appreciatively. “That was really cool the way you just sprinted-or, uh, kicked-him down at the end, I thought he might get you back but you really-oh my gosh!” To his surprise, Connor had leaned over and started vomiting across the grass.
            “Let it all out, kid,” Matt said, having arrived to join in the congratulations.
            “Should I go get someone? A nurse maybe?” Chris looked down at Connor with concern.
            “No, you should go get Rosenwasser.”
            “Why? Are his parents’ doctors or something?”
            “No, because we should show him what it looks like when you race with some guts.” Matt looked proudly at Connor who was now wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, a smile back on his face. “Now that’s how you run a 5k.”

            Chris turned his apprehensive gaze toward Matt. Seriously, what is this sport?

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