The Running Diaries: Chapter Twenty Nine

Chapter Twenty Nine

Ben Havleck, May 2016

He pushed the door open to the dining hall, his stomach in knots. He probably wouldn’t be able to eat much, but it was worth a try. The cafeteria was packed with other athletes, up early to grab a bite before a full day of competition. Most of the benches were occupied by teammates, some laughing and joking, others discussing strategy. Even the schools that only had one or two athletes had a coach sitting among them. No one was alone. Well, no one else was alone.

Ben walked slowly through the food displays, looking for a suitable breakfast. After a careful perusal, he decided on a wheat bagel. He lightly toasted it before adding a small layer of peanut butter. With his main course now set, he grabbed a banana and filled a cup of water. With his morning meal set, he walked out to the tables, looking for a place to sit. 

His options were, expectedly, sparse. He paced uncomfortably through the seats, his circumstance oddly reminiscent of his first day at his new high school. Mercifully, he spotted a small table in the far corner that appeared to be unclaimed. He quickened his stride and set off straight toward his target. When he reached the open spot, he slid carefully into the booth. At the same moment, appearing perpendicularly, another boy pulled out the chair opposite him and flopped ungracefully onto it.

“Oh, sorry,” Ben said as he realized the newcomer’s presence. 

“Nah, it’s my fault, dude, I didn’t see you there.” He prepared to return to his feet, looking back over his shoulder. Then, turning around to face Ben, “Actually, do you mind if we just share? Not sure there’s much else available.”

“No, I don’t mind.”

“If you’re saving this for somebody else, like a coach or teammate-”

 “Seriously, it’s not a problem. I’m the only one from my team here.” Ben cut across glumly.

“Same here.” The boy leaned back in his chair and ran a hand through his disheveled head of hair. He looked uncomfortable, perhaps even sick. Although he was seated, Ben could tell this runner was significantly taller than he was. He stretched his long legs underneath the table, extended his arms above his head and yawned. 

The stranger dipped into his breakfast: a plate full of eggs and a cup of Gatorade. Ben followed suit, taking his first bites of bagel and doing his best to keep it down within his nervous stomach. As they ate, a pair of girls passed by the table. One spotted the boy across from Ben and stared unabashedly, whispering something to her friend, who then copied. He was either unaware or ignored this odd behavior as they continued past without so much as a word from their target.

What was that about? he thought, trying to covertly examine the boy’s face for any clues about his identity. There was something familiar about the angles of the cheeks, but it was hard to get a good read while his face was down. And he didn’t look up much. In between bites, he would diligently check his phone. Not in a rude or standoffish way, but instead as if he was expecting a message or a call.  

“Excuse me, Mr. Springer?” A small boy, probably only a freshman or sophomore had approached their table. “Can I touch your leg?”

“Sure, kid,” he replied as if this was a perfectly natural question. While Mr. Springer continued to eat his eggs, the young boy reached out a tentative hand toward his calf. After a brief moment of contact, he ran away, back to a table of his teammates who were laughing and smiling.

Ben watched in shock, his bagel fixed halfway between table and agape mouth.

“You good, man?” His tablemate asked nonchalantly, taking a drink from his cup of Gatorade.

“What the heck just happened?” Ben asked unable to control his curiosity. His voice tended loud and high pitched in his angst. 

“What-that? Well, I wish I could say that was the first time ...” He removed the long sleeve shirt he was wearing in favor of a cooler option. His top layer was now a blue and orange colored fabric with the name “Union Valley” in bold font across its face. As Ben’s eyes flicked across the letters, he finally realized who it was that was sitting across from him.

Jimmy Springer, May 2016

Jimmy picked a little more at his eggs. He could feel the uncomfortable gaze of his table mate lingering on his chest. Even as he threw down his fork, giving up on any additional food, the boy’s stare remained steady.

Jimmy checked down at his phone again. Nothing. Damn it, he thought to himself. He checked up again on his shorter compatriot who still remained silent. Lost in thought. For whatever reason, the boy’s mind always seemed to be cycling through a complex level of ideas. Feeling uncomfortable, he prodded at conversation.

“So what are you racing today?” 

The boy opposite was finally brought back to reality. “I’m running the 3200. How about you?”

Why do these kids insist on calling it a 3200? Jimmy thought to himself as he took yet another drink of Gatorade. Just call it a two mile. No normal person knows what a 3200 is.

“Yeah, I'm racing that as well. Should be a fun one. Good luck.”

“Thanks. Same to you.” 

I think you’ll need it more than me, Springer thought as he looked the small runner up and down. He took another long drink from his cup. His headache was refusing to subside. 

“Well, I should probably get going,” Jimmy said finally, pushing creakily up from the table, his meal half eaten. “Won’t be long before that warm up jog.”

The boy popped up eagerly. “Did you want to warm up together?” He asked hopefully, “Since, you know, you said you were the only one from your team here and-”

Jimmy’s head pounded painfully again. “No offense kid,” he said clutching at his forehead with one hand and holding his tray in the other, “But I don’t think you could keep up with me.” And he walked away from the disappointed runner opposite him, hoping to find something else that could cure his hangover.

Ben Havleck, cont.

Feeling rather insulted, Ben slumped back into his chair. For the first time since he woke up, he wasn’t nervous. Instead, surprisingly, he was angry. Absentmindedly, he resumed eating, finding room to put away his breakfast. Once more he retreated back into his comfort zone: his own swirling head of thoughts.

He imagined himself racing head to head against Jimmy later that morning. Throwing down a surge at the perfect moment. Leaving a stunned state champ in his wake. Of course, he knew it was an impossible dream. Not necessarily because of a lack of ability, but because their schools were not in the same classification.

To give different sized programs equal opportunity to compete at states, the Pennsylvania Athletic League had split the championships into essentially two separate meets happening under one umbrella. For every event, like the 3200 for example, there would be two different sections contested. The first would be only for schools under a certain enrollment threshold, the next for those schools that were above it. Union Valley was in the large school division while Ben’s school, Bloomsburg, was classified as small. So no matter how fast either of the two harriers ran, neither could defeat the other.

With a deep sigh, he abandoned his daydream and refocused on the competition he would actually be competing against in less than two hours. McKenzie, Davis and Griffin. Those are the guys you have to worry about, he thought as he gathered up his dishes, Jimmy Springer should be the furthest thing from your mind.

“Excuse me.” One of the girls who had passed by the table earlier had reappeared at Ben’s shoulder. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Sure,” Ben said nervously. He could feel his hands getting slightly sweaty against his tray.

“Are you, like, friends with Jimmy Springer?”

“Uh, not really. We just kinda sat down at the same table.”

“Oh,” She responded disappointedly. The girl looked back over her shoulder. Following her gaze, Ben noticed her friend standing in the corner, mouthing instructions. “Well, if you see him again, can you give him my friend’s number?” She said, relaying the directions.

“Er-I guess so. But-”

“Awesome! Thanks,” she said placing a napkin on his tray. It had a string of numbers jotted neatly across it’s surface. “He’s sooo dreamy, right?”

He gave a fake smile and accepted the paper as the girl turned to walk back over to her comrade. Yeah, he thought, I just can’t seem to get him out of my head.