Chapter
Thirty Six
Ben Havleck, August 2016
He loved places like this. The posters on the walls.
The team uniforms pinned just below the ceiling. And of course the walls of
training sneakers. Pulling a box off the shelf, he rummaged through its
contents and removed a pair of neon green shoes. He slipped off the ones on his
feet in exchange for this new set. Then he rose from the bench and gently
bounced up and down on his toes.
Ben caught sight of himself in the mirror. For
whatever reason, he felt he looked much older than usual. Maybe it was the hair
cut. He touched the top of his head, only recently having adjusted to the fact
that so little remained there.
“Yo, BJ,” Dave called to him, “Did you find a pair you
like?”
Ben turned away from his reflection toward the
Georgetown sophomore. “Uh, yeah I think these would be good.” He slipped out of
the spikes and placed them gently back inside the box as if they were small
birds fallen from their nest.
With only a couple weeks left in his internship, Ben
had finally adjusted to life away from home. He could now confidently deposit
checks, food shop for snacks and do laundry all on his own. At work, he had
distinguished himself from the crowd. One of his superiors had even offered to
write him a letter of recommendation if he applied to be a Hoya in the fall.
But what excited Ben most right now, unsurprisingly, was his cross country
fitness.
After his chance encounter with a pair of Georgetown
runners on the trails last month, he had gained his first training partners in
years. Dave Quinn and Jared Dennish, both graduates from Pennsylvania High
Schools, were sophomores on the University’s cross country team and, therefore,
excellent runners. Dave was a shorter, stronger runner who liked to grind out
the pace and keep things fast when the run started to lag. He had a sarcastic
sense of humor which Ben found amusing, especially on hot mornings when he
didn’t feel like extending himself.
Jared, on the other hand, was longer and lankier. He
ate up ground with his loping stride, but rarely took the reins as pacesetter
on a run, preferring to default to Dave or Ben. However, he had fantastic raw
speed which he occasionally showcased at the end of one the group’s fartlek
workouts. Both he and Dave had redshirted the previous season at Georgetown,
meaning they had focused exclusively on training and adjusting to college life,
rather than actually donning the Hoya uniform and consistently racing. As a
result, they were eager to start their first official season on the team by
chasing a varsity spot.
With these two to guide him, Ben had seen significant
increases in his fitness. His mileage was higher than ever before, peaking at
88 miles the previous week. Runs that used to feel long to him flashed by as
his body adjusted to exercising for hours at a time without any break.
Encouragingly, the increase in volume was translating in workouts, where he was
able to push Dave and Jared, often finishing side by side with the collegiates.
He, too, was itching to start the upcoming season.
The box of shoes in hand, Ben wandered up to the
counter at the front of the shoe store where his friend Dave was waiting for
him.
“How much will these cost me?” He asked, putting the
box down.
Dave inspected it for a moment. “What brand are
these?” He asked as he opened it up, “Ares?”
“Yeah, they’re the new XC spikes they just put out.”
“Pretty sweet,” Dave punched a few keys at his
computer, “You’re all set then. No cost.” He handed the box back to Ben, who
took it uncertainly. “We’re sponsored by them,” Dave continued, picking up on
his customer’s confusion, “So everybody on the team gets a free pair of spikes
each season.”
“But I’m not on the team-”
“Yeah, but you will be.” Dave moved away from the
computer and started to pack up his bag, “After Coach sees you run at the time
trial on Thursday, he’ll be begging you to run for us.”
Ben smiled uncomfortably. At the duo’s first meeting,
he had neglected to correct his compatriots when they mistook him for a senior
in college rather than a senior in high school. As a result, Dave and Jared had
been working to convince Ben, or “BJ” as he had told them, he should come try
out for the team. The longer he had waited to correct their mistake, the more
things had spiraled forward. At this point, he had decided the best course
action would be to try and simply disappear when his internship ended on
Friday. Although his friends would be unaware of his whereabouts, no real harm
would be done.
Unfortunately, he had miscalculated. The 6,000 meter
time trial to determine who did and did not make Georgetown’s team was
scheduled for the Thursday night immediately before his last day. Despite his
insistence to the contrary, Dave would not let Ben skip out on the try out. He
was trapped, forced to either come clean or press forward with his increasingly
incriminating lie.
“Anything else you need before I close up?” Dave asked
as he walked toward the store’s rear storage room. Ben looked once more at himself
in the mirror. This time, he was struck by just how small he looked in its
surface.
“Nah,” he muttered, “I’m all set.”
… And our
time is running out … You can’t push it underground … We can’t stop it
screaming out …
They pulled into a small parking lot, Jared driving
his beige Honda car with Dave riding shotgun. Ben sat nervously in the back,
his stomach squirming. As soon as the car was in park, the two boys up front
popped open their doors excitedly.
“Yo BJ, can you pass me my water bottle?”
“And I would prefer that you don’t pass me anything-or
anywhere on the course,” Dave added, rolling out his arms as he stood beside
the vehicle.
“Sure,” Ben replied with a small smile. Reaching below
him and gathering up his own gear along with Jared’s requested container, he
slid out to join the others.
“Thanks, man.” The taller of the pair took the bottle
from Ben’s crowded hands. With a little more space to negotiate, he better
organized his equipment and took a deep breath. Then, it was time to go.
Standing a few yards in
front of him was Georgetown’s Head Cross Country Coach, Scott Lebowitz. Ben
recognized him immediately from their meeting in April. Impulsively, he gripped
slightly tighter to his spike bag as Jared and Dave led the way across the grass toward the target of his
trepidation.
“Afternoon, Coach,” Jared
said as they approached. The coach nodded back simply
before curiously examining the shortest of the trio. Ben diverted his eyes to
try and keep from being recognized. Nervously, he raised his hand to his hair
and ran through it. It was not nearly as satisfying as it had been in April.
“This is the kid, I was
telling you about Coach,” Dave piped in, gesturing at Ben.
Lebowitz looked him up
and down, now unabashedly inspecting the undercover high schooler. “Hmm, for
some reason, I was expecting someone taller.” Ben bristled slightly. Emotion
welled in his stomach as he clenched his fists and raised his eyes so he was
staring straight back at the coach’s face. In that moment, he was transported
back to their first encounter some four months earlier. He was with his
parents, sitting in a small office …
As Ben sat there, a mixture of nervous and
excited, he looked around the room, examining his surroundings. It was
decorated with All-American certificates across the wall, awards given to the
Coach’s most successful athletes. On his desk was a picture of himself and a
runner Ben vaguely recognized, sporting a black and red Ares singlet. He tapped his
foot anxiously, running a hand through his long black hair. From the seat next
to him, his mother reached out and patted down on his head, trying to fix the
mess he had just created.
After a few more moments of waiting, the older
man in the picture hustled into the room. He looked slightly sweaty and out of
breath.
“So, how can I help you folks?” He asked, taking
a seat across from Ben and his parents. The younger runner glanced sideways at
his father who gave him a nod that Ben knew meant “go ahead”.
“Hi, I’m-um-I’m Ben Havleck,” he said, trying to
recapture the polish and confidence his voice had possessed when he practiced
this same speech in the mirror. “I run cross country and track in high school
and I-well-I’d really like to continue doing that at-at a school of this
caliber. Both educationally and, um … you know … the sports.”
“Great,” the coach said, seemingly disinterested
in his nervousness, “So what kind of times have you run?”
“Well-um-I haven’t had the chance to race much,
but my training has been going really well and-uh-I ran 9 flat for 3k indoors.”
“Ok,” the coach replied, scrutinizing him, “And
what’s your best 5k?”
“It’s … like 16:30ish.” He could tell his odds
of impressing the coach were dwindling.
“Ah, nice,” The coach frowned slightly, clearly
having lost interest. “Look, Bruce, you seem like a passionate kid. You’re
touring at Georgetown, so you must be pretty smart. You’ve clearly got a lot
going for you. But I’m not sure running at a top flight Division I school is in
your future.”
“I’ve been training really hard this year,” He pressed,
pleading slightly, “I think some breakthroughs are coming.”
“Hard work is definitely a part of the equation,
but talent is too. The guys we get here: they’re 15 minute 5k guys. They’re 9
minute two milers. For most people, no amount of work is going to get you to
that point.” The coach got to his feet, signaling the discussion was over. Ben
could feel his face beginning to burn, his eyes beginning to water.
“Could you maybe just write his name down?” Mrs.
Havleck chimed in desperately, noting her son’s distress. “And you can keep an
eye on his time so if, somehow, he does improve enough-”
“Sure,” Coach Lebowitz said, ushering them from
his office, “give your name to the secretary at the desk and I’ll be sure to
take a look.” He pointed across the room to a woman sitting by the phone and
then turned to exit down the nearest stairwell. “Best of luck!”
Feeling defeated, Ben trudged over to the
secretary’s desk where she instructed him to write down his name on a small,
half torn, post-it note. Somehow, he doubted it would ever make its way back to
the Georgetown Coach.
As Ben envisioned that
small piece of paper, he felt a sudden sense of resolve. Changing his demeanor,
he extended his hand confidently forward.
“Nice to see you again
sir,” he said with a small smile.
Unsurprisingly, Coach
Lebotwitz stared back at him unfamiliarly. “Right-um-have we met before?”
“Not exactly,” Ben said
as the pair released hands. Then, without waiting for an additional response,
he walked away, trekking toward the crowd of runners preparing for the upcoming
time trial with a little extra spring in his step.
Beep! Beep!
Ben
looked back over his shoulder, trying to find the source of the noise. A car
drove by him, the passenger yelling something that he couldn’t quite understand.
H figured it was likely something obscene. Usually it had to do with his
shorts, but sometimes his hecklers were a bit more creative than that. He
appreciated the variety.
At
his next intersection he made a right and turned toward a small shopping
center. He ran at a relaxed clip, enjoying the cooler weather that the sunset
brought. As he approached the first building, he slowed to a stop, making sure
that no cars were speeding through the parking lot just in front of his path.
In his right hand, he held a long, thin cylindrical package that he carried
like a baton. Using his free hand, Ben raised his shirt and wiped the trails of
sweat from his face. Then, he walked up and pressed open the door to Barnes and
Noble. He entered the store with his head on a swivel, looking around for the
man he had hurried over to see.
“Havleck!”
A familiar voice called, “Is it raining outside?” The source emerged from
behind a shelf of books, admiring Ben’s sweat-stained top.
“Good
to see you too,” Ben smiled and stepped forward to meet his friend. Neal
grinned back at him. When they got within distance, the younger of the pair
opened his arms for an embrace, which the elder rejected at once.
“You
couldn’t shower before coming by?” Neal joked, patting him gingerly on the
shoulder, his face screwed up in overdramatic disgust.
“Oh
c’mon, this can’t be the grossest thing you’ve done. I’ve seen you eat yogurt
out of the trash.” He continued forward, arms still held wide.
“Hey
now-that was for a bet. You planning to pay 20 bucks for this hug?”
“Alright,
fine,” Ben replied, stepping back. “I guess you won’t be getting this present I
bought for you.” He shook the package in his right hand to draw Neal’s
attention to it. Ben could tell by the look on his friend’s face that he had
peaked his curiosity.
“You
drive a hard bargain, kid.” With on hand holding his nose, Neal leaned forward
and gave Ben a halfhearted, one handed hug. Then, he grabbed the gift from
Ben’s fist before pulling quickly away. “So when’d you pick this up?” He asked,
picking at the bottom piece of the wrapping.
“I
was shopping for a Christmas ornament for my mom in this convenience store and
saw it. Thought of you instantly.”
“I
swear if this is a picture of some landmark or something, I really don’t … no way.” He unfurled a long poster and
stared at it in surprise. Then he flipped it around to show to Ben. It was a
movie poster for the upcoming Wonder Woman film. “This is amazing.”
Ben
shrugged, his smile increasing in width, “I’m just following the Gal Gadot
policy.”
“I’ve
taught you so well.” He waved Ben forward for another, more committed hug. But
as soon as their chests touched, he pulled back again, even quicker than he had
previously. “I immediately regret this decision.” He pinched his now slightly moist
shirt, looking uncomfortable.
“So
where are you gonna hang it?”
“Well,”
Neal perked back up, now grinning mischievously, “I’m currently leaning toward
the ceiling above my bed so that way-”
“Hey,
Neal!” A vaguely familiar female voice sounded behind them, causing the two of
them to jump. Neal hastily rolled up his poster and hid it on the ground behind
him. Shortly after, a face appeared around the shelf. Seeing the brown-haired,
lightly freckled face jogged Ben’s memory. “There you are. We have a customer
looking for-oh, hi Ben!”
“Hi
Colleen,” Ben replied politely. He remembered Colleen as the girlfriend of Bryn
Andrews, one of Neal’s best friends from Bloomsburg. They had first been
introduced a few months back at one of the college’s baseball games. Not that
anyone required his approval, but Ben was a fan. She had been very nice and
friendly. “When did you start working here?”
“When
you stopped,” she said, beaming. “I’m here for the summer taking a couple
classes, so I signed on to be your replacement while you were in D.C. How was
the internship by the way?”
“Oh,
it was fantastic. I-”
“Um,
excuse me.” A pretty girl with blonde hair and glasses emerged around the same
bookshelf from which Colleen had appeared moments earlier. “Did you find the
Nicholas Sparks section?”
“Oh
shoot, right-” Colleen said, shaking her head and looking flustered, “Uh, Neal
do you know if we-”
“I’ll
take this,” Neal said, stepping forward. “You wouldn’t happened to be looking
for The Choice on DVD would you?”
The
blonde haired girl stared back at him in wonder. “How did you know that?” She replied sounding mesmerized.
“Just
a guess,” he said, leading her out of their aisle and toward the back of the
store. “I’m glad it was The Luck One.”
They could hear a gleeful laugh that Ben couldn’t help but feel wasn’t
justified for such a small comment. “Neal Simons. Floor manager. Pleasure to
meet you.”
Colleen
rolled her eyes as the two drifted out of earshot. “So, summer was good?”
“Yeah,
summer was great. How about yours?”
“Eh,
I’m ready for school to start back up on Monday.” She looked back up over her
shoulder in both directions, checking to make sure no other customers had
entered the store. As far as Ben could see, it was empty.
“When
does Bryn move back in?”
“He’ll
be up late tonight,” She said, her tone increasing in cheeriness. “Hey, you
should come out to eat with us tomorrow. We are having a big reunion with
everybody before classes start.”
“Awesome!
I’ll talk to Neal about carpooling and stuff.”
Ring! Ring!
The
phone at the front of the store sounded loudly, reverberating around the empty
shelves.
“I
should get that,” Colleen said, backpedaling away from Ben, “But I’ll see you
guys tomorrow? You can tell Neal he can bring his new girlfriend if he wants.”
“Sounds
good,” Ben laughed. She waved and disappeared from sight, leaving him alone.
For the first time, he looked around at the books surrounding him, trying to
discern the section in which he had landed. A few paces to his left, he spotted
a pink-spined paperback. Plucking it from its holster, he stared at the cover
of The Power of Love. Chuckling to
himself he shook his head. Then, he put it back and prepared to exit the store.
He had a new destination in mind now.
He
stepped outside into the cooling night air. A gentle breeze wafted the stench
of his body up to his nose. Although I
probably should shower first.
After
a summer of hard work, the Georgetown Cross Country team had reconvened on
campus to test their fitness. The assignment was a 6,000 meter time trial, made
up of three orbits around a 2,000 meter grass loop. This distance would be new
to Ben as he never raced more than 5,000 meters in high school, almost three
quarters of a mile shorter than he was tasked with tonight. However, with his
increased volume this summer, he was confident he could handle the extra
distance.
The
informal race would allow the athletes and, perhaps more importantly, their
coach to assess the progress they had made at home. According to Dave, Coach
Lebowitz rarely let runners who he himself had not specifically recruited even
come out for the team. It had taken some careful convincing from him and Jared
to get Ben the green light for participation. Although he appreciated his new
friends’ efforts, he was becoming increasingly nervous by the magnitude of his
deception. Based on his limited knowledge of NCAA rules, he guessed
participating in this time trial as a high schooler could get the program in
big trouble. And first in line for the blame would be the two runners who had
hand delivered him to the event.
Yet
still he ignored his conscience’s pleas for him to come clean. After this, you’ll be gone. He told
himself, Back in Bloomsburg, never to be
heard from again. Besides, now that he had arrived at the event and
reconnected with the coach, the old flame of competitive fire had rekindled
within him. Suddenly, he was more focused and motivated than he could ever
remember. This was the culmination of months of hard, disciplined training. The
proof that a runner’s ability wasn’t simply defined by a set of numbers listed
next to his name. And a referendum on talent versus hard work.
Like
he had so many times before, he slipped out of his ASICS training shoes and
into his racing spikes. He laced up his new Ares
shoes for the first time. They fit snugly to his feet, almost like a pair of
socks. As had become routine, he bounced softly on the balls of his feet. Then,
he dashed across the grass, trying to extend his stride and wake up his lungs
for the upcoming effort. He received more than a few looks from the incumbent
athletes as he sprinted by them, a large subset watching him primarly in
amusement. Even at his top speed, Ben didn’t exactly resemble a Division I
athlete.
“Alright,
gentleman, let’s get this started!” Coach Lebowitz called to his athletes,
scattered locally in their final preparations. Ben tucked his purple singlet
carefully into his black shorts as he walked forward. His expression was stern
and focused, but inside his stomach was whirling wildly with that familiar
pre-race zeal.
There
were about twenty runners on the starting line, some looking confident and at
ease, others nervous and fidgety. Ben tucked in at the back of the group,
positioning himself in the shadow of Jared and Dave.
“Good
luck, BJ,” Dave said, turning to give him a high five, “You’re gonna kill it.”
“Thanks,
man-you too.”
From
their most recent workout together, Ben knew the plan was to try and hover just
over five minute mile pace. It was certainly a quick pace, faster than he had
ever raced before, but Ben was optimistic he could keep up.
“Carpenter,
Green-just stay controlled on this one, alright?” Ben could hear Coach Lebowitz
instructing some of the runners at the front of the pack, “As for the rest of
you,” he continued, slightly louder, “We’ve got a lot of varsity spots up for
grabs this season,” he jogged backwards, trying to move clear of the runners’
path, “Show me today which of you wants them most.” He stopped and grabbed the
stopwatch around his neck. Then, he raised a hand toward the sky. A chill ran
down Ben’s back. “Runners set! … GO!”
Ben sprinted hard off
the line, preparing for the familiar fight for position that had started each
of his high school cross country races. However, this group was different from
what he had become accustomed to. It was a smaller group so space was not as
scarce a resource. Ben easily found himself a nice pocket on the path, his legs
extending and turning over freely. But also, the collegiates seemed to control
their early efforts much more efficiently than their younger counterparts.
While high schoolers had a tendency to sprint out the first mile and crumble
from their overly ambitious start on the second, these harriers seemed at ease
with a consistent-or even conservative-tempo to start the race. As a result,
Ben found himself unintentionally at the front of the race within the first 400
meters with one of his friends behind him, tugging at his jersey. Looking
around, he carefully backed off his pace and filed into the pack just behind
Jared and Dave.
Now it was the same as any other workout the
trio had completed that summer. They ran three across, keeping a controlled,
comfortable tempo. Ben focused on keeping his body relaxed and his breathing
controlled. Things felt very easy at this stage, but he knew better than to
underestimate the length of the distance still remaining.
Roughly a mile into the race, distinct packs had
started to form. Ben’s trio was the third fastest grouping, trailing sets of
three and five. The top group, a trio like his own, had already asserted
themselves in a dominant position well ahead of the field. He assumed two from
that group must have been Carpenter and Green, the pair Coach Lebowitz had
spoken to before the start. Ben pushed that herd from his mind, guessing they
were a bit out of his league. However, the flock of five seemed a reasonable
target to work toward over the last two laps. Just stay patient, he thought to himself, you’ve never raced this far before.
As they came through the first lap, Ben listened
carefully for a 2k split. His best run for the 5k distance last season was
16:33, a pace that would translate to approximately six and half minutes per
2k. Considering his breathing was still fairly steady, he expected to hear
something 10 to 15 seconds slower.
“… 6:21 … 6:22 … 6:23 …”
The times sent a rush of excitement through his
body. Even his most optimistic estimates weren’t quite this quick. He could be
on pace to really exceed his expectations if things continued this way. Ben
wiped a line of sweat from his face and gave a sidewise glance to his right.
Dave was inching slightly ahead, itching to pick up the pace. His eyes were
locked on the pack ahead. On the other hand, Jared looked to be laboring
slightly. His legs didn’t seem to have the same pop Ben had seen at the end of
their most recent workout.
Meanwhile, the pack ahead of them didn’t seem to
be coming any closer. In fact, a couple runners ahead of them seemed to
actually be increasing their advantage. Ben took a deep breath to compose
himself. The threesome began a gradual turn, looping around a short tree. He
had a better view of his two training partners now. Looking one last time at
Dave’s face he made up his mind.
Off the turn, Ben put his foot slowly down on
the metaphorical gas pedal and started to quicken his pace. Dave sensed the
change right away and reacted in turn. Together the two slipped ahead of Jared,
who filed in behind them, doing his best to keep up with the faster tempo. His
breathing became a bit more ragged, but he kept within striking distance.
About 3,000 meters into the race, the focus
turned from pacing to racing. Dave and Ben traded the lead seemingly every few
meters, each making sure the other didn’t relax too much. A few stragglers had
been dislodged from the group ahead and were left weakly flailing in the space
ahead of them. They were primed to be chewed up on the second half of the
course.
Advancing quickly toward them, Ben was gaining
confidence with every step. Positive energy was rushing through him, boosting
his endorphins and giving him that fabled runner’s high. His legs were starting
to tire slightly, but his breathing was still very even and controlled. Despite
this fact, he couldn’t help but be nervous that he had mistimed his surge,
pushing the pace before he was ready. What if he used too much energy on this
second lap and had nothing left for the third?
With the 4k in sight, Ben could no longer hear
Jared’s heavy breathing. Instead, he was now close enough to hear the panting
directly in front of him. A wheezing runner with broad shoulders and running
tights would be the first victim of their second half push. They surged by him
with ease, little resistance materializing from their prey. As soon as he was a
full stride ahead, Ben’s focus was locked on to the next target. He was so
focused, he almost missed the second lap split.
“… 12:41
… 12:42 … 12:43 …”
That’s it? They had picked it up on that second lap, but not by as much as
Ben had expected. He tried to push that negative thought aside and instead keep
his eyes ahead. He still had a final 2,000 meter loop to orbit and it would
require, at a minimum, a disciplined mindset. As they charged ahead, passing
their next victim, Ben decided to preoccupy his mind with numbers. It was a
trick he had become accustomed to using in the middle stages of a race (before
his brain went to complete mush) to distract himself from the pain and instead
imagine a fast time or a high finish. Usually he dreamed up some exciting, near
impossible achievement that would provide the extra shot of adrenaline he
needed to combat the impending fatigue that would soon engulf his mind and
body.
He counted out the bodies ahead of him, starting
with the very front. It pleased him to know that he could still see the
leaders. Like his own group, the top trio had dwindled to two front-runners
with the third holding himself together reasonably well. Next there were three
more competitors, spread out just far enough that they couldn’t work together.
And then it was he and Dave. That put him even with 7th, the cut off
to be a varsity team member. The realization that he was poised for a varsity
finish on a Division One Cross Country power struck him giddy. A wave of
excitement flooded his sore quadriceps and reinvigorated his stride.
Without intending to, he edged a few steps ahead
of Dave. For the first time in the race, Dave didn’t respond to the increased
tempo. He put his head down and pumped his arms, but his legs did not carry him
forward. Ben looked back nervously over the corner of his shoulder, relaxing
slightly to try and let his friend catch up.
“What are you doing?!” Dave shouted as best he
could, spit flying across his face, “Go get ‘em!”
With the slightest of nods, Ben opened up his
stride and dropped his pace yet again. His body rejected the decision, fighting
him slightly, but his lungs cooperated fine. He ignored his muscles and trusted
his lungs, pressing now to try and engulf as many bodies as he could in the
final four minutes of running remaining.
Once he made the choice to disconnect from Dave,
he had no option but to run all out to catch the next runner. He couldn’t
afford to get stuck in no man’s land, running alone with no one to use to help
pace himself. Fortunately, the additional surge he had thrown down had helped
him make up a lot of ground. Ben moved up to 6th and was within
striking distance of 5th by the time he rolled around the small tree
for the last time.
C’mon Ben, he cheered to himself, Three
more before the finish. Three more. His thoughts were devolving now, past
the stage of rational planning and into internal chanting. But even three miles
into the trial, every time his brain asked for something from his body, it had
responded on command. He couldn’t remember a race when things had gone so
smoothly. Even while drifting farther into pain, he somehow maintained a rhythm
and a cadence to his gait, allowing him to press on faster and faster.
As he continued his charge, he moved up into
fifth. Then, fourth. And, with maybe 500 meters to go, he was in third place.
His head was spinning now, but through the fog a light of enthusiasm shined
brightly. His performance made him ecstatic and the positive energy had
propelled him along so well that he suddenly found himself within striking
distance of the two co-leaders.
Ben noticed the runner on the left was laboring.
He kept grabbing at his side, indicating he may have had a cramp. As a result,
his teammate beside him had slowed, jogging along easily at his side. By this
point, the two had likely felt their lead was secure enough that they could
relax and glide to the finish without increasing their suffering. They would
have transitioned away from the killer instinct needed to produce a strong
end-of-race kick. For Ben, this weakness was his biggest motivator yet. He put his head down and broke into one final
all-out sprint.
He was getting close now. The gap was shrinking
between himself and his opponents, but so too was the gap to the finish. It was
hard to estimate which would disappear first. Ben grit his teeth hard, as if he
was trying to bite straight through the bottom of his jaw.
Some 50 meters from the end, his panting and
pumping had become loud enough to get the top groups’ attention. They looked
back over their shoulder, stunned expressions flashing across their face at
this unrecognized party crasher. Instinctively, the runner on the right opened
up his stride. He clearly had plenty left for the finish and opened back up his
advantage. He looked to his left, expecting his friend to take off with him,
but he was alone. His cramping teammate had instead been content to glide home.
With third place.
Ben crossed the line with an excited fist pump,
but it proved to be a touch overzealous. His tired legs caused him to trip and
almost fall over. Straightening up, he tried to play it off like nothing had
happened.
“Who the hell is that guy?” He heard the winner
say to his friend. It made Ben smile. He felt incredibly emboldened after his
performance. Without a doubt, this was the best race he had ever contested.
Looking round, he saw Coach Lebowitz standing with his clipboard, instructing a
volunteer to record the finishers’ times. Ben walked forward eagerly. With a
quick upward swipe, he grabbed the clipboard from the man’s hand. He ignored
the outraged stare and skimmed the list of results. The name slot for second
place had been left empty; only the time had been written down. Coach Lebowitz
still didn’t know his name.
“Ben Havleck,” he said dramatically, scribbling
his name into the blank space. “Don’t lose it this time.” He put the clipboard
somewhat aggressively into the coach’s chest and walked back toward the finish
area. He could see Dave within a few more strides of the finish and wanted to
cheer him home. From his vantage point, he could already see a broad smile
etched across his training partner’s face.
Ben
sat patiently in the booth, clutching absentmindedly at his fork. His stomach
grumbled causing him to fidget uncomfortably. As if responding directly to his
distress, their waitress arrived at his shoulder, carrying a plate full of
eggs, pancakes and bacon. He was careful to control his mouth so that he
wouldn’t drool across his chest.
“Thank
you,” he said politely as the dish was placed carefully in front of him. Then,
as soon as she disappeared, he set to attacking his meal, recklessly shoveling
food into his face. Neal watched him, mouth hanging slightly agape. He
snickered as Ben mis-forked a patch of eggs, sending them flying onto his lap.
His grin grew even wider when Ben picked them up with his free hand, stuffing
them into his mouth before seamlessly transitioning to a bite of pancakes.
“Wah?”
Ben asked through a mouthful of breakfast food. “Iam hungray!”
Neal
shook his head and took a bite of toast. “My advice would be to not do this on
your date next week.” He said after swallowing. “Maybe eat dinner before you go
out. Just to be safe.”
“Oh,
we’re just going out for ice cream,” Ben replied, making a concerted effort to
slow the pace of his food intake. “So I’ll be ok.”
“Thank
goodness,” Neal continued to watch him in amazement while slowly dissecting his
omelet. “What night are you guys going out again?”
“Next
Friday. Apparently this week is like ‘Hell Week’ for soccer with tryouts and
everything, so it seemed easier to wait.” He pushed aside his finished plate of
eggs, focusing his attention on the last pancake.
“When
do you start practice?” Feeling satisfied with his cutting, Neal finally took
his first bites of egg. “Is everything going to fit timing wise?”
“We
don’ havva teem,” Ben said, finding hard to talk with an empty mouth as he
continue to devour his brunch, “So I do my own thing. I’ll just run in the
morning that day like I did today.” To beat the heat, he had successfully
logged 18 miles before it was even 8 o’clock. This way he could go out to
dinner tonight without it affecting his schedule. “By the way, did you end up
getting that girl’s number?”
“Which
girl?”
“The
one at Barnes and Noble last night.” There was no recognition across the table.
“She was looking for a book on fireworks or something?”
“Fireworks?”
Neal asked curiously. “Oh-you mean the Nicholas Sparks chick? Yeah, I got it.”
“So
are you going to call her? Colleen said you should invite her to the dinner
tonight.”
“Eh,
I’m not really interested.” He lifted a long string of cheesy egg to his mouth.
“She had weird earlobes.”
“You’re
absurd.”
“What?
I have high standards.”
“You
have impossible standards,” Ben said, putting his fork down on his empty plate.
“It’s like you don’t even want to find somebody.”
The
debate ended as the waitress returned to their table to check on their
progress. “Alright, how is everyone doi-oh my!” She stopped in shock, seeing
that Ben had already finished his entire breakfast. “Somebody was hungry this
morning!”
Ben
smiled meekly and handed across his finished dishes to clear the space on the
table. Neal still had most of his meal left in front of him. He didn’t seem to
be in a rush. Once again, he was watching Ben attentively. It made him feel
slightly self-conscious.
“What
now?” He asked as the waitress vacated their table. “I’m not even eating
anymore.”
“There’s
something different about you,” He responded, pointing his omelet populated
fork at Ben.
“Still
not used to the haircut?”
“No,
it’s not that. It’s not physical.” He took a thoughtful bite, a pepper
crunching under his teeth. “You seem more … confident. More self-assured.” Neal
paused to finish chewing his next mouthful. “What happened to you down in
D.C.?”
Ben
thought back to his final days at his internship. One memory sprung easily to
mind. “No idea.” He replied simply.
“Sorry again, guys. I should have told you
earlier.”
“It’s
cool man, no harm done.”
“Plus,
with you out of the picture, I’m in the top seven.”
The
three runners sat together in Ben’s small dorm room. His bags were packed and
waiting by the door. Soon it would be just as empty as when he arrived. To an
observer, it might appear that nothing had changed.
“And
you guys aren’t going to get in any trouble?” Ben asked nervously for fifth
time that afternoon.
“We’ll
be fine,” Jared said, waving his hand, “Nobody even knows but us. I guess coach
may figure it out at some point, but it’s not like he would let that get out.
He has the most to lose.”
“The
NCAA has better things to do than investigate a cross country team. They’ve got
enough on their plates with the whole’ making millions of dollars exploiting
amateur talent’ thing.” Dave chimed in, leaning back in Ben’s desk chair.
“Plus, Lebowitz would be embarrassed if word got out that some high school kid
dusted his whole squad. That would cost him some credibility.”
“And
you guys aren’t pissed at me?”
“We’ll
be pissed if you don’t come here next fall. Or at least give us a shout out in
the interview you give VaniaRunners after you win the state championship.”
“Ha,”
Ben said dryly, “I think you guys are forgetting about Jimmy Springer.”
Dave sat forward in
his chair to better focus on the high schooler. “Look, I don’t know much about
high school running anymore, but I was a part of a state championship squad
during my senior year. I ran up close and personal with all the best guys in
Pennsylvania-including your boy Jimmy Springer. And I’ve never seen anybody as
good as you.” He paused to let his words linger. “So you better kick his ass
this fall.”
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