The Running Diaries: John Trainor Foreward

John Trainor, July 2019

I’m a pretty quiet guy by nature. Typically, I’ll sit back in a group of new people, listen and react. But for whatever reason, when the situation presents itself, I love to make speeches. I guess it’s because I think of myself as a writer and as a story teller. Those are some of my only skills. So if I have the chance to use them to make someone smile or to fight for someone’s rights, I do it. And I’m excited about it.

That’s how I ended up here. Shuffling nervously with my papers, preparing to present my defense for the Bloomsburg Men’s Cross Country and Track and Field teams. We were set to be dissolved, cut from the budget, and we were doing everything we could to try and keep our squads on the books. Not much had worked so far and, considering the slashes happening around us, things didn’t look particularly promising for us Huskies.

I suppose using the term “us” is a little misleading. I’m no longer a part of Bloomsburg’s team. Or a member of the student body in general. I graduated in May and, in all technical senses of the word, became an independent individual. But, in this wacky sport, the line between team and individual is a little blurry. I mean don’t get me wrong, I’m mortal enemies with all the other schools in the PSAC and will hate them until the day I die. But if I see one of them out on a run, I’ll give them a nod rather than a punch in the face. Unless it’s Ryan Phillips. He’s the exception.

What I’m trying to say is that, ultimately, runners are all a community. We are each working toward the same goal: to be the best version of ourselves we can be. Even if there’s animosity, there’s at least respect. Except, of course, Ryan Phillips. Never Ryan Phillips.

So even though this budget cut doesn’t affect me directly, I felt compelled to do something for my future runners who would be following in my all too literal footsteps. And so I spoke.

“Track certainly has intrinsic value. It’s a really fun sport-most of the time anyway. You go out every race and try to push your body to its absolute limits. There’s no loop holes or short cuts. It’s just run fast. Jump high. Throw far. That’s competition in its purest form.

“But track’s greatest value is in the life lessons it teaches to its athletes. You need to be dedicated. You need to be disciplined. You need to make sacrifices. When someone offers you the chance to make a bad decision-anything from staying out all night to taking illicit substances-it can give you another reason to say no. It takes balance, time management and work ethic to achieve success. Therefore, it’s not a surprise that our Cross Country and Track teams have the highest GPAs in the entire school.”

I felt like this was a good line to really hammer my point home. I took a moment to let that line sit. One of the older members of my audience picked his nose. I may have overestimated its value.

“A lot of people complain that our generation is too entitled and expects everything to just be handed to them without any work. Well, there’s no better way to teach people about hard work than the sport of track and field. It takes constant training-tireless labor-to excel. If you slack off, you will get beat. Plain and simple.

“Socially it can be critical as well. Again, what people say our generation is missing can be found within cross country. When you go on a run with your teammates, it’s just you guys out there. We can’t run with lap tops. There’s no texting each other. It’s just you and your friends having a conversation. Learning. Growing. Communication in its most simplistic and cherished form.”

Appealing to the good old days. That was sure to get at least a nod of approval from these baby boomers on the committee right? I looked over at the nose-picker. He flicked his booger across the room. It could have been worse. At least he was awake.

“Anyone who has ever competed on a track or cross country team understands the unique attitude of these runners. The sport naturally allows you to enjoy everyone’s successes. Sure, there is a competitive fire to win and score points for your team, but there is also a joy that comes from watching hard working teammates set big personal bests. Or fighting with a rival and pushing each other under a big time barrier for the first time.

“When another team or athlete does well, we are happy for them. And the converse is certainly true as well.”

So there will the pillars. It seemed like maybe a few people were buying what I was selling. But, overall, I suspect people’s minds were generally made up. I suppose I shouldn’t have been surprised. Oh well, might as well bring it home.

“Just to be clear, I’m not lobbying for other sports to be cut instead. All sports have their place. My track is someone else’s tennis. Or golf. Or football. And why would I want to take away their passion? But I do hope that fans of other sports can see that my passion is the same as theirs. Even if my sport is more boring or less mainstream, it doesn’t mean my love of the game is any less important. That the lessons and skills that come out of my sport are any less significant. Right now, athletes are fighting an uphill battle and we need everyone’s support.

“I hope that we can all remember the pillars of track and field. Competition in its purest form. Communication in its purest form. Humanity in its purest form. And if that’s not worth saving, I’m not really sure what is.”

***

 “So it turns out nothing’s worth saving.” The boy to my left took a long swig of his beer. We each had our own coping mechanisms. While he drank quickly from his glass, I sat staring absentmindedly into my own, as if I could somehow find a couple thousand dollars to solve my problem as long I searched diligently enough. Surprisingly, that’s not where they’re hiding it.

Just a few hours after my fervent defense of our cross country program, I posted up at a local bar with my best friend and co-captain Gary Fox, mourning its demise. Yes, I know it’s hard to believe, but a well-crafted think piece wasn’t enough to change the hard line facts of an increasingly bankrupt state government or a consistently underappreciated sport. Ok, so the word “underappreciated” may have some bias to it, but if you thought I was going to play this perfectly neutral, I haven’t sufficiently introduced myself.

“If it makes you feel any better, I thought your speech was really good,” Gary said comfortingly. The statement itself didn’t make me feel any better, but the intent behind it helped a little bit. “Can you print me out a copy?” His direct question forced me to speak for the first time since we sat down.

“Yeah.”

But he was going to have to work harder than that to get a full sentence.

“Cool,” he polished off his beverage and stood up from the table. “And you might as well drink it, Train. Can’t get drunk with your eyes.” Nothing about my behavior changed. He stared to walk away, but added “When I get back, I’m buying you another one.”

I hate it when he buys me drinks. Something about the principle of not letting things go to waste makes me feel obligated to finish it-even when I don’t want or need it. That’s how my twenty first birthday ended with a sobbing phone call to my mother from the dormitory bathroom floor.

No, I won’t be elaborating. I’ve already divulged too much.

After a few short moments, someone slid back on the seat beside me. Figuring it was Gary, I decided not to look up from my relatively untouched beverage.

“You lose something in there?” It was a female voice, so I was pretty sure it wasn’t Gary. Unless he had gotten way better at impersonations. I raised my head, looking into the face of a pretty girl with brunette hair. By now I was at least 99 percent sure this wasn’t Gary.

“No … uh … I know it’s just beer in there,” I replied, my voice cracking slightly from lack of use. I think it’s my clever wit that helped me win over so many women during my collegiate years.

“Is everything alright? I’m just guessing here, but something seems wrong.”

“Yeah … it’s a long story.” I looked back over toward the bathroom, wondering how quickly Gary might re-emerge. “I should probably tell you that my friend-”

“Oh, I know,” she replied. “He’s over there talking to my friend.” She pointed to another girl, about the same age, with red hair and freckles. She was indeed talking to Gary. “To be perfectly honest, I’m just here to hold down the fort until he gives her his number.” She added bluntly. Looking a little closer, her friend did look a bit more recognizable. I think she was in my calculus class or something. “So, you might as well tell me your long story.”

“Well, if you’re gonna be stuck listening to me talk, I should probably get you a drink.” I caught the eye of the bartender. That was about as smooth as I could possibly hope to be.

“That’s OK, I’ll pay for my own. I don’t want to lead you on or make it seem like I’m interested in you.”

Super. I took my first big swig from my cup. I needed it. She ordered a drink of her own and then turned back to me. “So, let’s hear it.” I looked across the room at Gary. He was smiling and laughing. I’m not super well versed in the bro code, but I’d wager breaking that pair apart would violate it.

“Today I spoke in front of some of Bloomsburg’s board members, trying to get them to reconsider cutting the Men’s Cross Country and Track and Field teams. But they didn’t.”

In retrospect, it really wasn’t that long of a story.

“We had a cross country skiing team here?” My new drinking mate asked, looking astonished. “No wonder they decided to defund it. There’s been like no snow.”

“No, Cross Country running.” I tried my best to be civil, but it felt like her words had been a personal attack on my family. “Have you never heard of that?”

“Nope. What is it?”

“Have you ever done, like, a local 5k race?” She nodded. “Well, it’s a lot like that. Except instead of running on streets, you run across terrain. So hills, grass, mud, things like that.”

“Oooh, so it’s like a Spartan-”

“No, it’s not a Spartan race. There’s no obstacles to climb or anything. It’s all running based.”

“Do they still spray you with colors?”

“No,” I was becoming increasingly agitated, now starting to fidget in my chair. “It’s not some gimmick driven event. It’s about racing head to head against the guy next to you. Whoever is stronger and faster is gonna win. Simple as that.”

“Sounds boring. But I don’t really like sports much.” She shrugged. I smiled weakly before looking back over toward Gary. I was grateful to see he was heading back this way. She noticed it too and, equally relieved, prepared for her exit. “Well, nice meeting you, uh …”

“John,” I filled in for her.

“Stacy.” She lingered for another second before standing, “Good luck with your-well-your not a Spartan race.”

“Thanks.” I looked down to take another drink of beer. When I looked back up, Gary had filled her vacated space, causing me to double take in confusion.

“She seemed kinda cute. Did you get her-what’s got you in such a huff?” He changed tone, noticing my disgruntled tearing at the paper on the outside of my bottle.

“Nothing,” I replied, tossing a moist scrap onto the counter. “So, who were you talking to?”

“This girl Elizabeth. I tutored her last semester in like Calculus class or something. She kept trying to get me to give her my number.” He finished sourly.

“What’s wrong with that? You like her, don’t you?”

“Not really.”

“But I saw you! You were smiling and laughing.”

“Nah dude, I was giving you the signal! Didn’t you couldn’t tell that was the fake laugh with the ‘save me’ eyes?”

“No. Because that’s not a thing.”

“It’s a thing.”

I sighed and went back to picking apart my label. “So what did you do?”

“I gave her my number.” Gary said flatly. “Not like I had much of a choice. She had me cornered” He looked at me carefully. “I’m guessing your experience didn’t go much better?”

“We didn’t have a lot in common.”

“So she hates running?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Well it’s the only interest you have, so I figured it out.” I opened my mouth to respond, but, admittedly, he had made a good point. “At least she got you to drink half of your beer. That’s a positive.”

“Why do people not get Cross Country?” I blurted out in frustration the question I had been deliberating the whole night. “Like … nobody cares.”

 “You’re just figuring this out?”

“No, I guess not … But I just thought maybe, if I could teach people more about the sport, get them to really understand what it’s about-”

“You’re going about it the wrong way. The sport in and of itself, it’s fine, but what makes it truly great is the people. The journey. The struggle. You can’t just make people understand that. They have to experience it.” Gary reached over and grabbed the beer from my hands. “And people aren’t exactly going to line up for that.” He tipped the bottle back and chugged the rest of the drink before placing on the counter. “Now, c’mon let’s get out of here.”

As we walked away from the bar and toward the exit, we walked past the two girls we had interacted with earlier that night. I gave a polite wave, but Gary ushered me forward to make sure we didn’t get caught in another conversation. While rushing forward, I noticed Gary’s ex-tutee’s shirt for the first time. Printed across the front in orange text were the words “Vikings Field Hockey”. Seeing them flash in front of me while dwelling on Gary’s last monologue, something clicked in my mind.

“Gary,” I reached out and grabbed his arm. “Did Elizabeth go to Union Valley High School?”

“I don’t know,” He said, continuing forward unperturbed, “Maybe That does sounds vaguely familiar.” We exited the bar and trudged back up the road toward our apartment, conveniently located just a few minutes away.

“I’m gonna need you to call her.” I said decisively.

“You’re kidding right? Didn’t we just over this?” Gary shook his head. “We move out next month and then my goal is to never see her again.”

“This is important. I’ve got an idea.”

“Unless it’s as good as our DadHat YouTube series, I don’t care.”

We continued our journey down the road before turning east onto a darker side road. Although Gary said he didn’t care, I knew him better than that. His curiosity would eventually cause him to break down and ask about my idea. It’d probably take a couple days, maybe even a week, but in the end he’d-

“OK, fine. What do you want?” Gary asked sounding defeated. Wow, he broke even quicker than expected. With a rush of excitement, I turned to him and firmly relayed my request.

“I need you to help me get in contact with Jimmy Springer.”       

The Running Diaries: Chapter Thirty Six

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 7^th, 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 6^th and was within striking distance of 5^th 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.”

The Running Diaries: Chapter Thirty Five

Chapter Thirty Five

Jimmy Springer, May 2016

Dropping to his knees, he hastily stuffed his spilled items back into his bag as his friend stormed away. Picking up the gold medal last, he tossed it angrily into the sack. As he did so, he heard a small cracking sound.

Damn it.

Diving back into the pack, he pulled out his phone, now with a freshly cracked screen. Jimmy closed his eyes and tried to calm himself. The day was spiraling quickly and he was finding it difficult to keep his composure. Then, suddenly, the object in his hand buzzed and its damaged surface sprang to life. He opened his eyes and looked down to see who was calling.

“Hello?” He answered tentatively.

“Hey, Jimmy?” The voice on the other end said, with a similar note of hesitancy, “Are you still here? I’ve been looking for you.”

“What do you mean by ‘here’? Are you at Shippensburg?”

“Yeah, man! Did you get my texts? I’m in the stands. Top right corner.”

“I wouldn’t expect you anywhere else,” Jimmy replied, his tone rising in excitement. “I’ll be right up.”

The announcer sounded again as Jimmy hung up the phone and set off at a brisk walk out from under the stadium. “Chris Fuller makes the pass as we head into the exchange. Coatesville will be next, followed by Baldwin and then West Chester North!” After a few quick stairs, he spotted the man he was looking for in the corner he had described. Springer rushed forward to greet his old friend.

“Matt!” He said, arms open.

“Hey, great job out there superstar,” Matt greeted him in an embrace. “You really had me on the edge of my seat.”

“Nothing easy at states,” Jimmy replied simply, taking the spot next to him and turning to watch the track, “Speaking of which, how’s this race been going?”

“Eh, nothing too surprising … Looks like Coatesville and North Penn will be battling it out,” He gestured ahead at a pair of runners, one in black and one in blue.

“Who led off for Coatesville?” Jimmy asked, leaning forward and watching the two teams come into the second exchange. They were followed closely by a mass of teams in purple, red and white.

“Couldn’t tell ya. I barely recognize anyone anymore,” Matt responded, scanning the field, “It makes me feel quite old actually.”

Jimmy looked away from the race to inspect the runners waiting alongside the track. He recognized one of the stronger runners in black from Coatesville’s Cross Country team. “Oh crap, they’re anchoring Kyle King!” He remarked in surprise. The junior looked at Matt, but the revelation seemed to go over his head. “What happened to you, man? You used to be good at this stuff!”

“And you used to not know who Steve Prefontaine was.”

“Here comes West Chester North! A huge leg from junior Will Aldrich! He’s now powering away from Coatesville and will give his team the lead as we move to the anchor leg!” They watched as a powerful close from a runner in white propelled his school to the lead. Just behind was a runner in blue as the runner in black struggled home along the final straightaway. Then, as quickly as West Chester had moved to the lead, the two anchors just behind him shot off like fireworks. “Coatesville and North Penn both out very fast on this anchor leg! It’s back to a two team race. Kyle King for the Raiders against Bernard Mirun for the Knights!”

“North Penn’s got to win this, right?” Matt asked as he watched the blue runner, stalked carefully by Kyle King. “The 4x8 is, like, their thing. And Coatesville’s just an XC power. They usually don’t have the horses for mid distance.”

“I’m not sure that’s the case anymore,” Jimmy cautioned, “Coach Solares has turned these guys into super heroes.” The crowd rose as one as the two relays came off the final turn, North Penn still holding a lead and seemingly opening the gap. Then, empowered by the crowd, Kyle King turned it up to another level and sprinted forward.

“Oh my god,” Matt muttered, watching the victorious squad celebrate their victory. “What is he feeding these guys?”

“I don’t know … but I’d love to get his recipe.”

Ben Havleck, May 2016

“You’re kidding, right? That’s not actually what you said …”

“I mean, it was a really big upset. I just got a little excited. I think that’s perfectly natural.”

“Yes, it is perfectly natural to get a little excited in that situation. But sounds like you went about it the wrong way.”

Ben smirked. “Honestly, I don’t think she was really my type. She’s too tall.”

“Did you ever think maybe you might be too short?

He rolled his eyes. Although his friend could not see it, he hoped his tone implied it. “Well regardless, it doesn’t matter. She wasn’t the right girl for me anyway.”

“Whatever you say, champ,” Neal’s voice reverberated in his ear. “So what time am I picking you up?”

Ben checked down at his watch. It was now almost five o’clock. Currently, he was riding the bus back from the PAL Track and Field State Championships at Shippensburg University to his adopted hometown of Bloomsburg. On the phone with him was Neal Simons, his coworker and friend from the local Barnes and Noble bookstore. Since Neal lived just around the corner from the station, he had offered to pick Ben up once his bus had arrived.

“Probably another hour or so,” Ben estimated, “I can text you when I start to recognize some landmarks, but for now just pencil me in for about 6 o’clock.”

“Alright sweet. Did you want to grab dinner afterwards? Bryn and Jared invited us out with them.”

“Maybe. I have to check something on my email first.”

“Can’t you just do that on your phone right now?”

“No. I’ve still got a dumb phone, remember?”

“Oh, right. Well, what is it you have to check? I can do it for you right now if you want.”

“It’s this application thing,” Ben hesitated for a brief second, but then decided he was comfortable enough with Neal to share.  “I applied to this internship program at Georgetown and I just want to make sure all my references went through.”

“Yo, that’s awesome! I didn’t know you were applying for one of those.”

“Yeah, my friend Nicole told me about it actually. During our last study session.”

“Ah yes, I remember your ‘friend’ Nicole,” Neal replied playfully.

“What-we are just friends.”

“Sure. And I guess I’m ‘just friends’ with Gal Gadot.”

“You don’t even know Gal Gadot,” Ben answered frustrated.

“When’s the next time you’re seeing her?” Neal continued, ignoring his comment.

“I don’t know, hopefully sometime next week. We’ve got to start getting ready for finals.”

“Well, you better make sure you look at all those track results tonight then-”

“-Good bye, Neal-”

“Gotta get all that excitement out of your system if you know what I-” And his voice abruptly disappeared as Ben ended the call.

Jimmy Springer, cont.

“So you came.” Jimmy said simply.

“So I came.” The excitement of the relay now fully having died away, the pair sat back down and decompressed. A group of volunteers began moving hurdles onto the track. “I stuck Emily with my mom and my sister for the day. Hopefully, she’s not too pissed at me. I just didn’t want to miss you race again.”

“Well, I appreciate you coming all the way up. It means a lot.”

“Of course, bro.” He brushed a strand of stray hair off his shorts. “How many state titles is this now?”

“8,” Jimmy said sheepishly. Feeling awkward, he started stretching his arms.

“No need to feel uncomfortable about it.” Matt reached out and pull his closest limb down to its side. “Own it. There’s no shame in being the best. There’s no shame in being the worst. There’s only shame in trying to be something you’re not.”

The younger nodded, feeling marginally more at ease. “You were always big on speeches. Kinda makes me sad to know you’ll be sitting in a cube crunching finance numbers all day.”

“Well, when giving speeches starts paying as much finance does, feel free to send in my résumé. Besides, it’s a lot more interactive than you think. In fact, just yesterday …”

With the hurdles set up, the gun sounded to start the next set of races. From their top corner of the stands, Jimmy and Matt had an excellent view of the track. In between events, they talked and caught up on life. Then, once a distance race began, they set to work on analyzing it. It reminded Jimmy of his freshman year at the state championships two years earlier when the two had initially discovered this corner. Uncrowded, direct sightline. The perfect place to properly post up as fans and friends. He missed those days. They felt like a lifetime ago. Or perhaps not his life at all. Was it even possible there was a time that he was so carefree and innocent?

When they eventually reached the final distance event of the meet, the 800 meters, the weather had cooled slightly and the wind had picked up a touch. As the competitors lined up for the race, Jimmy noticed how bulky and muscular many of them looked. He imagined himself, a year smaller and lighter, lining up among these giants and smirked. To think that just twelve months earlier, he had been able to win this event was astounding to him.

“Who you got in this one?” Matt asked as the athletes jogged down to the start line. “Give me a break down.”

“OK,” Jimmy said, pointing to the athletes one by one, “That’s Andrew Mallon from CB East. He won the 800 indoors and is probably the favorite. We’ve also got Joseph Rotz from Lower Dauphin. He anchored his 4x8 all the way up to third-”

“Oh yeah! That guy came from way back! He may have split like a 1:50.”

“We’ll see how much he has left after that. Same goes for Bernard Murin of North Penn and Kyle King from Coatesville. They both anchored their 4x8s as well.”

“So who is fresh that can put some pressure on these guys?”

“Well I’m not sure anybody is going to push the pace quite like last year. Remember Lewis Hadrick?”

“Hell yeah, he used to go out sooo fast. By the way, did you see he ran 1:47 this year at NC State?”

“I saw him get his ass handed to him by Lance Andrews at ACCs if that’s what you’re referring to.”

“Geez, you know the NCAA guys too?” Matt replied, sounding impressed. “How do you keep up with all this stuff?”

“I don’t know. It’s just something I do to keep busy,” Jimmy looked down at the track for a moment, the runners on the verge of beginning their race. “Although to be fair, Lance Andrews is my favorite runner right now. He’s so tactically sound. So smooth. Plus, he always seems to step up when the pressure is on.”

“Well if you like Andrews and those sort of guys, there’s this mile race in Boston this summer. It’s going to have Andrews, Murphy, Lebowitz, all those guys. You should definitely come up and watch. You can crash with me.”

“I don’t know,” Springer responded tentatively, “I’d have to talk to my parents about it. Just to make sure I get permission.”

Matt waited a beat before deciding to press the question. “How are your parents doing? They’re not-um-they’re not here, are they?”

Jimmy shook his head. “No, they’re not. My mom is too afraid of running into my dad … and my dad works so much now that he can never make it down.” He sighed. “Ironic, right?” Matt nodded his head solemnly but otherwise did not speak. “When I get home, my mom and I will watch the replay of the race on the Pennsylvania Cable Network. My dad … I don’t know, honestly. We’ll figure something out, I guess. If he cares.”

“I’m sure he does.”

BANG!

The gun sounded, signaling the start of the 800 meter dash. Any retort that Jimmy may have had was lost in the excitement of the moment. Unlike the race he participated in a year earlier, the pace was relatively tame through the opening 200 meters. As a result, the athletes were packed tightly together. A runner in a red and blue singlet reluctantly took up the lead and worked to keep things honest.

“It’s slow,” Jimmy muttered under his breath as the competitors approached the first lap split. “Do you have a watch on this?”

“No,” Matt replied, “You?” Jimmy raised up a pair of bare wrists as a substitute for a response. “How do you still not own a watch?”

“Looks like 56-57,” He ignored Matt’s question, focused instead on the large scoreboard projecting the time that had elapsed in the race thus far, “This second lap is going to be mayhem.”

“The key is to measure it out,” Burke explained, rising to his feet as the crowd’s enthusiasm increased, “You can’t use up all that extra energy in the first 200 or you won’t have anything left.”

“It’s also impossible to switch gears that fast.”

“True.”

As the runners careened down the backstretch, elbows and legs became tangled as each competitor felt compelled to pick up the pace as soon as possible. Although no one fell to the ground, it was tricky to build momentum. The runner in blue and red was able to stay clear, maintaining his position at the front with careful surges. Just before 200 meters, a runner in white increased his tempo, trying to rush forth and beat the leader to the turn. However, he was too late in his effort, forced to run wide and cover the extra distance.

“It’s Andrew Mallon and Joseph Rotz with 200 meters to go!” The announcer boomed over the loudspeaker. The fervor around them intensified as the spectators cheered on the two top athletes. Jimmy watched keenly as the runner in red and blue, Andrew Mallon, got to the home straightaway first. Rotz hung just on his outside shoulder, ready to rally one more time and try to make the pass.

“Rotz has got him!” Jimmy yelled, his voice nearly drowned out by the tumult. He watched as, on que, the runner in white glided a step ahead, pumping his arms furiously. Then, suddenly, Matt grabbed his arm and tugged.

“Look at Coatesville!” He pointed him in the direction of a streaking black jersey. In a repeat of the finish of the 4x800 meters, Coatesville’s Kyle King flashed down the final forty, turning over quickly, no signs of tying up. Meanwhile, his nearest competitors had no response for him. With a courageous ultimate charge, he pushed through the line and crossed in first place.

“Wow,” Matt remarked simply, as fans across the bleachers reacted similarly, “That was unreal. Where did this kid come from?”

“That closing speed is unreal. I had no clue he had that in him. Just a junior too.” They sat back down in their seats, the excitement starting to dissipate.

“Is he any good at cross? Like are you gonna have to worry about him in the fall?”

“Well, actually,” Jimmy said, averting his friends gaze, “I don’t think I’m running cross country this fall.”

“Wait-really? Why not?” He could hear the shock in his friend’s voice.

“I just feel like my heads not in it,” he replied, still not looking up, “I may just need a break. Take a little time away from it. Then, hopefully, when I come back, I’ve got something to motivate me.” He chanced a glance upward to gauge Matt’s reaction. No mouth agape, just a smile.  

“OK,” he replied, the surprise removed from his tone, “Well I hope you do.”

“That’s it? You aren’t gonna, like, tell me quitters never prosper or some other dad speech like that?”

“Look, running is a brutal sport. It’s painful enough when you’re having fun.” He gestured down at the state champ Kyle King, who was currently bent over a trashcan re-familiarizing himself with his lunch.  “Can’t imagine it gets any better if you’re not.”

Jimmy contemplated King as well. He looked absolutely miserable, yet somehow incredibly happy. “Have you ever thrown up after a race before?” He asked.

“Yeah, a few times. Including a couple weeks ago actually. Coach had me do the 4x4 and then-boom. Everywhere.” He crinkled his nose.

“What was it like?”

“It was mostly water-but also some eggs. Don’t think I should have had those-”

“No, gross,” Jimmy said, shaking his head in disgusted, “I mean what did it feel like?”

“I don’t know. It just felt like puking. Haven’t you ever puked before?”

“Yeah, but never from a race.”

“Trust me, you aren’t missing much,” Matt leaned back in his position on the stands.

“You don’t think it’s, like, an effort thing?” Jimmy replied, much less at ease, “Like I haven’t been pushing myself enough?”

“I wouldn’t read too much into it. I think it’s just a tolerance thing. Some people are naturally more prone to it than others.” A group of sprinters were now organizing their starting blocks on the track. “Now can we please stop talking about vomit? I’m getting grossed out.”

“Sure,” Jimmy nodded, not completely reassured, but willing to move on. “What would you prefer?”

“So yesterday, I was in the bathroom, right? And I had just been to Chipotle-”

“You’re the worst.” 

Mark Miller, May 2016

“Mark, are you coming back home with us?”

“Yeah, one sec,” Mark waved goodbye to his family before darting back over to join his friends. The state meet had reached its conclusion, thus officially closing the last athletics season of his sophomore year. Feeling wistful, he climbed into the backseat of the car, as Tom strapped in up front and prepared to drive.

“Well that’s it. Another season in the books,” Ian remarked. Apparently sharing his sentiment, he looked out at the nearly empty Shippensburg track stadium. Only a few minutes earlier it been packed edge to edge with spectators. “You think we’ll ever be good enough to run here?”

“Maybe,” Mark said, turning his head forward as the car began its drive, “But I think we have a better chance of making it for cross country at Hershey. We should have a solid team next year.”

“Yes! I was just saying the same thing!” Ian exclaimed, hitting Tom in the arm, “Right?”

“Yeah, he was bragging to Jimmy Springer about it.” He replied nonchalantly, rubbing his right arm gingerly.

“I wasn’t bragging to him about it,” Ian replied, “Plus, he wished me good luck which was pretty cool-”

“Wait-you were being serious?” Mark asked in amazement, “You guys actually met Jimmy Springer? When?”

“Yeah, we didn’t tell you?” Tom said, his voice rising now with his own enthusiasm. “We met him in the bathroom.”

“How’d it go?”

“Um, it seemed like everything came out fine. He was just peeing-”

“No-not that. Never that. I meant what was he like?”

“Oh, right. Well, he seemed like a pretty normal guy,” Tom replied. Now stopped at a red light, he turned around to look at Mark. “I feel like he was super locked in, you know? Very focused. Probably one of those kind of runners.”

“But he wasn’t a jerk or anything? I’ve heard he’s pretty cocky.”

“No, he seemed nice enough. Maybe confident though. I could see him getting upset if someone tried to step to him or something.”

“Oh my gosh! We barely even talked to him,” Ian interjected loudly. “He’s just a fast runner. He’s not some celebrity. You guys really need to scale it back.”

“Ian … you got a selfie with him.”

“Touché.”

After a brief spot of traffic, Tom had navigated them back onto the highway with open roads in front of them.

“Anyway,” Ian continued, “let’s get back to this cross country thing. How good do you think our team could be next year? I mean we’ve got Jayson, the Reilly Twins, Pasterano and Delaney all coming back. We lose Hilton and Garraway, but I bet most teams lose a lot more.”

“What’s Cumberland Valley bringing back?” Tom asked, carefully switching lanes, “That Hartzel kid was a junior right?”

“Yeah, and he’s pretty good. He was top 25 last year.” Mark responded, “They’ve also got that kid in our grade. I think his name is Rich something.”

“Rich Brown,” Ian said venomously. “Hate that kid. He got one of the last spots into districts this year for the two mile.”

“So Cumby will still be good, but that’s to be expected. Who are the other good schools?”

“I couldn’t even begin to tell you,” Mark said, shaking his head, “Coatesville I assume? You saw them in the 4x8 today, they were absurd.”

“That Kyle King dude is a baller. I hate him, but he’s a baller.”

“You hate everyone, Ian.”  

Mark laughed as he took out his phone. “I’ll look up last year’s state results on VaniaRunners and we can use that as a barometer.”

“Ooo good idea,” Ian said, unhooking his seat belt and climbing into the back of the car to sit alongside him.

“Seriously?” Tom asked exasperatedly as he watched his friend in the rearview mirror, “Can you at least put your seatbelt back on once you’re back there?”

“I’ll be fine. You drive too slowly for me to be in any real danger in this thing.” He caught sight of Tom’s angry glare in the mirror and hastily pulled down the strap. “Ok, there-it’s on. Happy?” He shuffled closer to his friend and leaned down to look at the screen. “Now Mark, let’s see these results.”

“Out of the top three teams from last year,” Mark read aloud so that Tom could hear, “Coatesville returns 3 out of 7-”

“Woah, King is a junior?!” Ian interjected in surprise, “Damn, was hoping he’d have graduated.”

“Bonner returns 2 out of 7,” Mark continued unperturbed, “And Horsham brings back 3 out of 7 as well.”

“But none of those guys have more than 2 top 5 guys coming back. We’ve got our whole top 5 back.”  

“True,” Mark scrolled a little further down the page, “Cumberland Valley has 4 of 7 back and then, this team from out near Pittsburgh, North Allegheny, has 5 coming back. On paper, those two schools are the biggest competition.”

“Well, we beat North Albany last year-”

“-North Allegheny-”

“Whatever their name is, it doesn’t matter. I’m not afraid of them. Honestly, I think we’re the favorites to win states next year.” As Ian finished his thought, a hush fell over all of them, the gravity and scope of this realization hitting them. “That’s awesome.”

Jimmy Springer, cont.

“Take care of yourself this summer, alright?” Matt patted him gently on the shoulder.

“No guarantees,” Jimmy replied with a smile. The final race of the championships, the 4x400 meter relay, had just concluded meaning it was time for the two former teammates to depart in separate directions.

“I’ll be back home again in August,” Matt said, starting to walk backwards toward the parking lot, “Make sure you save me a night, ok? I may have something big to show you.”

“If this is another Chipotle joke, I swear I’ll punch you in the stomach.”

“Oh, it’s much better than that,” Matt winked, “You’ll have to stay tuned.” He turned his back on Jimmy and threw up his hand. “Until next time, superstar.”

“Until next time.” Jimmy stood and watched his friend disappear among the departing spectators. Then, with a small sigh, he removed the bag from his back and unzipped it, diving in to retrieve his car keys. As he searched, he came across his phone, complete with its freshly cracked screen. He pulled it out and held it carefully in the palm of his hand, trying to assess the damage. He tapped the home screen and was pleased to see he could still read the letters on its surface.

Looking through, he saw he had a few unopened text messages and missed calls, which he assumed had all come from Matt while the two were trying to find one another. He cycled through the notifications, looking to clear the red dot that signaled a missed call. Matt Burke … Matt Burke … He stopped Dad?

Due to an important client presentation, Jimmy had not been expecting his father to get off work until into the night and yet he had a missed a call from him at 11 o’clock in the morning. Slightly concerned, Jimmy scrolled to his father’s name in his contacts and pressed call.

“Hey Jim-bo,” Mr. Springer’s voice floated happily through the speaker, “How’d the race go?”

“It was fine,” Jimmy said hurriedly, “Dad-what’s going on? Why aren’t you at work?” To his surprise, his father laughed.

“Goodness, this is how work obsessed I’ve been, huh? You’re nervous when I’m not working all day.” He sighed deeply, not much differently than his son’s from a few moments earlier. “Everything is fine, Jimmy. Or at least, going forward it will be … I quit my job.”

“What?!”

“Sitting there miserable, stuck at work, knowing I was missing my son compete for a state championship … I just thought-why? And I realized I didn’t have an answer.”

Jimmy stood in surprise, the gentle buzz of white noise in his ear. “So … what will you do?”

“I’m not sure. It’s a little nerve-wracking. But all that matters is that next fall, when you’re running at Hershey for your last cross country meet, I will be there.”

Jimmy felt his eyes beginning to burn. A single tear shined down his cheek. But unlike so many droplets before it, this was not shed out of sadness. With a smile, he replied excitedly, “I’ll make sure it’s a good one.”