Chapter
Twenty Two
Ben Havleck, May 2016
He was sprinting as hard as he could. He tried to focus as best he
could on his form. Arms pumping. Head steady. His legs turned over again and
again. His quads burned. Then he stopped, tapping his wrist and easing into a
slow walk.
What was
it, he
wondered as he looked down. His watch read 30.6 seconds. Ok, fine. I'll work down to it.
Ben jogged slowly back to his starting position halfway around the
track. His breathing returned to normal almost instantly. His legs weren't
quite as resilient, but the jogging helped keep them from tightening. Just
before the 200 meter mark, he slowed to a walk. Then, steadying himself, he
started another repetition.
30.2 seconds.
He plodded back around the track. Alright, this will be the one.
30.4 seconds.
His frustration increased as he started his recovery jog again. Ok, you aren't doing more than 4 of these,
so this one has to be under.
30.1 seconds.
Fine, one
more. But that's it.
30.3.
30.6.
He slapped his hands together in anger. His temper was rising, his
heart already pumping blood through his body at an elevated rate. Despite his
reservations about over working himself, he jogged again around the bend and
back to the track's halfway point. His legs felt like rubber, but his
determination had blocked out his fatigue.
Just as he had six times before, he readied himself at the start
and took off into a sprint. This time, he threw all of his thoughts about control
and technique out the window. He didn't think about proper running form or
pacing. The only thought racing through his mind was “faster”. Every 50 meters he tried to dig down and force himself
into another gear.
As he approached the finish line, he thrust his body forward into
a dramatic lean, stopping his watch with his opposite hand. The weight of his
body on his extended leg caused it to buckle and he stumbled, falling wildly
forward with his arms flailing. He rolled off the track onto the inside turf,
managing to avoid any serious cuts. His body ached and his chest pounded up and
down as he reoriented himself. Then, he checked his watch for the time.
30.03 seconds.
"Damn it!" He whipped off his watch and threw it as hard
as he could down across the football field. He watched it bounce simply on the
turf. It was not nearly as satisfying as he had hoped.
Chris Cline, September 2016
Human
beings in a mob … what’s a mob to a king? … what’s a king to a god? … what’s a
god to a non-believer? … who don’t believe in … anything? … Make it out alive …
All right, all right … No church in the wild …
Chris sat on the cross country
locker room’s bench, untying his shoes. Leaning forward, he picked away at the
laces, letting them fall across his feet. As he sat, the music wash over him as
he absentmindedly pulled a change of clothes from his duffle bag.
I’m
out chere’ ballin’, I know y’all hear my sneaks … Jesus was a carptenter, Yeezy
laid beats … Hova flow the Holy Ghost, get the hell up out your seats … Preach …
A few of his teammates were
changing as well, but Chris chose to keep to himself. He still felt awkward
talking to most of the North runners with the exception of freshmen Sam Wikler
and Connor McIntyre. And seeing how Connor didn’t talk back, that left only one
peer he could have a conversation with.
We
formed a new religion … no sins as long as there’s permission … and deception
is the only felony … to never f-
“Ouch!” Someone had pulled the
headphones straight from his ears. He whirled around angrily, “Hey, what the-”
But he stopped short as he looked up into the face of the head football coach.
“No headphones while in school
buildings, Cline, you should know better,” Coach Groff said gruffly, tossing
the earbuds at Chris’s untied shoes. His former quarterback looked back
frustrated. In the section of the locker room immediately across from his, he
could see Jacob Naughton’s large “Beats” headphones perched over his ears.
“Now,” Coach Groff said turning away from Chris to address the group at large,
“I’m going to need all of the cross country runners to move to the hallway.”
“You’re kidding, right?” One of Chris’s
new teammates, Andy Eggleston, said, eyebrows raised. He stood in a pair of
boxers and a shirt.
Coach Groff looked back at him
darkly. “The football team needs this space today. We’ve already cleared it
with the AD. Your coach should have told you about this hours ago, honestly. Would
have saved you some trouble.” With some grumbling the runners started to throw
their essential materials into bags. Chris, however, stayed put, his shoes
still untied.
“I’m sorry, Cline, are your ears as
broken as your hand?” Coach Groff said sarcastically. “Let’s get on a move on.”
“Why do you need the space?” He
said, trying to keep his voice as even as possible.
“Well, that’s certainly none of your
business.”
“Well,
seeing as this is our locker room, I think it’s at least some of my business.” Chris said, unable to completely hide his
attitude. A couple sophomores had scurried quickly for the hallway, but the few
remaining upperclassmen were now slowing their packing, hoping to catch more of
the argument.
“What did you just say to me, Cline?”
Coach Groff said in a quiet, angry voice. He moved his face closer to Chris’s.
The room had become quiet and tense. But Chris stared back defiant and
unintimidated.
“Soccer is at an away game, can’t
you just use theirs?”
“Cline-”
Coach Groff tried to cut across him, his voice beginning to regain some of its
earlier vigor.
“I
just don’t get why it’s our team that has to-”
Coach
Groff let out a harsh, booming laugh that sent shivers down Chris’s spine. “Our team is it?” Coach Groff said with
an evil grin. “Funny, Cline, I used to think our team was my team. Are
you a cross country runner now?”
“Well
…” Chris said, a bit less fight in his voice now, “I just want-
“Well,
if you want to be playing anything this year, I suggGEST YOU GET
THE HELL OUT OF THIS LOCKER ROOM!” Coach Groff shouted. Begrudgingly, Chris
accepted the loss rather than risk any further damage. Fuming, he tossed his
clothes in his bag and stormed form the locker room. “AND THAT GOES FOR ALL OF
YOU!”
Chris’s
teammates hurried along behind him, Andy still only in his boxers.
The
West Chester North Cross Country team changed in the bathroom that afternoon and
then continued practice as usual, setting out on a standard distance run
through the neighborhoods. The team had a league meet scheduled the next day,
so Coach Finley instructed them to keep the pace controlled. This request,
combined with Chris’s own consistently increasing fitness, meant that he found
himself running with the largest group since his disastrous first run. Leading
the way within his pack were juniors Andy Eggleston and Matt Schmidt. Then a
trio of sophomores, Caleb Collins, Alex Robinson and Nick Meyers. They were followed
by a group of four: Chris, comfortably jogging in the middle of the team’s
three freshmen. A unit of varsity runners trekked off on a farther, faster loop
while the remaining members of the JV team splintered down a side street Chris
had yet to traverse.
The
pack started out quiet, but eventually they began to discuss what Chris had
been waiting to hear.
“So
what do you think it was this time?” Matt said, looking across at his friend,
“Worried we have a spy on our team that’s going to sell their secrets to
Downingtown West?”
“You
know it’s always something,” Andy said frustrated, “Getting kicked out of the
weight room. Getting kicked off the track. And when we try to fight back? We
get our ass kicked.” He aggressively spit on the side of the road. A couple of
the sophomores gave not so covert looks over their shoulder at Chris, trying to
gauge his reaction. Feeling awkward, he just smiled back at them.
“Why
doesn’t Coach do anything about this crap?” Alex Robinson asked, moving up to
Andy’s shoulder.
“Because
Groff has the Athletic Director’s social security number or something,” Matt
replied bitterly.
“You
kidding?” Andy piled on, “You know how much money the football team has been
pulling in recently? Remember how crowded that game was on Friday night?
They’re ‘Wolf of Wall Street’-ing hard core right now. No way they’re gonna do
anything to rock the boat. Especially if they only have to ‘inconvenience’ the
cross country team.” He finished with disgust.
Sam
looked at Chris nervously. The former football standout looked back at the
freshman and flashed a halfhearted smile. Some actions, especially those of his
coach, he knew he would not be able to defend. But he also didn’t like the idea
of his sport being berated by his new teammates. After a few seconds of silence,
he decided it was time to speak up. He coughed softly, nervously clearing his
throat.
Before
he could voice his opinion, Andy spoke up again. “But that’s all about to
change now,” he said dramatically. “We’ve got one of them on our side. Isn’t
that right, Chris?” He looked back over his shoulder and gave the quarterback a
toothy grin. The other runners turned to watch him as well. They stared at him
attentively, as if they had wanted to study him like this since his arrival on
the team but had not been permitted to until the moment he was first directly
acknowledged.
“Uh
… yeah,” Chris said softly. “I guess so.”
“Wait,
what happened?” Matt asked enthusiastically.
“Well,
Chris and I were in the locker room with Alex, Nick and some of the other
guys,” Andy said, reveling in the opportunity to be a storyteller, “And Coach
Groff comes flying in like a mad man, trying to kick us out for whatever
reason.”
“Roid
rage.”
“Meanwhile,
Chris just sits there, stone faced and is just like ‘Eff you Groff, why the
hell should we listen to you?’ Honestly, I thought they were going to get in a
fight. And so I’m just standing there in my sailor boxers with my mouth wide open
trying to decide what to do if they roll towards me mid-kerfuffle.”
Chris
laughed lightly with the rest of the team, his previous tension slowly dissipating.
“Then what happened?” Matt asked, sounding like a little kid excited by his bed
time story.
“Well,
then Coach Groff screamed a lot and I ran out of there like a scared little
girl.”
“Did
you at least put on pants first?”
“Certainly
not.” Everyone laughed again, particularly those who were not there to witness
the scene in person, “But it’s OK, I got a date with Ms. O’Connor out of it.”
“Andy,
I’m pretty sure that was a detention.” Alex said as the group roared further
into glee, “And those are with Vice Principal Hield.”
“Well,
you just hate to see that.”
Ben Havleck, May 2016
He ran alone down the road, rain falling down gently onto his warm
body. His path was essentially empty, the neighborhood’s casual joggers were
shut in, waiting for better weather. Ben ran his hand through his long, wet
hair absentmindedly, moving it back off his face.
As he ran, his mind jumped through what he remembered from his
last race. He was surging to the lead, enjoying the rush that came with flying
down the back straightaway and seeing no one in front of him. Then in a flash
it was gone, a pair of sprinting bodies motoring past. His best efforts to keep
pace were futile. It angered him to feel so helpless. Without realizing, he
ticked down another gear as he jogged further along the road.
Ben turned left, ran past a small playground and then hooked
right. Now he was on a long, straight avenue. Even in the rain, he could see
far ahead of him, down the dark, dreary street. Another jogger was plodding
along slowly maybe 150 meters away. Automatically, his mind went into attack
mode and Ben shifted into chase mode. It was an exercise he had done at least a
hundred times. Whenever someone was running ahead of him in the neighborhood, regardless
of ability, he felt an uncontrollable urge to pass them. In a race, he would
pace himself carefully and he had accepted the fact that he would often be
trailing someone throughout the contest. But out here? This was his kingdom and
only he was fit enough to rule.
Once more, Ben quickened his stride turnover with his eyes fixed
on his target ahead. He was expecting a quick pass, but every time he cut into
the gap, it seemed like the jogger would change pace and force Ben to access
another gear.
As the straightaway ended, Ben could hear his own breathing
becoming increasingly strained. His originally scheduled route called for a
left at the end of the block, but the jogger he was doggedly pursuing turned
right. So, naturally, Ben made a right, continuing to indulge his competitive
instincts. They ran onto a wooded trail between rows of tall trees. The rain
still occasionally split the cover and dropped upon the two runners, but Ben
trekked through the elements unperturbed. He was getting close now. A few more
hard steps and he would be within arm’s reach. Ben prepared himself to make the
pass on the narrow trail, but again the jogger surged smoothly ahead. He put
his head down and forced his legs to find an extra gear. He was hurting now. He
could feel his head return to its familiar flailing, rallying for another try
at the front. But as he swung wide again, his foot clipped a stray root and he
flew forward, crashing onto the hard ground.
He lay there, his heart pounding in his chest as if it was trying
to punch the earth. Now that he had stopped he realized how incredibly labored
his breathing was.
“You alright?” It was a gruff voice from just in front of him. He
spoke easily and steadily, as if he had been standing rather than running. Ben
looked up for the first time at the jogger’s face. The man removed the hood of
his rain jacket to reveal a head of graying hair.
“You're old?!” Ben exclaimed in exasperation. “Er-sorry,” he said
realizing how rude he must sound. To his surprise the man laughed.
“I think the politically correct term is youthfully challenged,”
he said extending his hand to the boy on the ground. “Where you heading back
to? I'll jog with you.”
Moving at a more reasonable pace, the duo jogged side by side to
the opening of the trail and then looped back toward Ben’s house.
“So who do you run for?” The man asked, scanning Ben for any
school insignia.
“I run for Bloomsburg.”
“BU? This is pretty far for you isn't it?”
“No, Bloomsburg High School,” Ben replied, pointing the man toward
their next turn.
“But that’s impossible, there’s no team here, unless … are you by
chance Ben Havleck?”
“Yeah, I am,” he replied, pleasantly surprised, “How did you-”
“There's only one high schooler in Bloomsburg who could run the
pace we were running.” Ben looked down, slightly embarrassed. He saw a small
lady bug crawling along his muddy chest. Carefully, he picked it off his shirt
and lifted his finger to the air, letting it fly away. “Third in the state.
That's pretty good.”
“Third for small schools,” Ben replied bitterly. “That's not third
in the state. Most of the top guys run the large school races.”
“Well there’s a reason for those classifications. There are
certain advantages a school like Coatesville has over the tiny programs. More
money, better facilities-”
“An actual coach,” Ben cut in, “They've got a guy who coached
Olympians out there and I'm just winging it off some Matt McWilliams book.”
The man smiled to himself as if sharing some private joke.
“What?” Ben asked confused.
“You remind me a lot of myself is all,” the man replied. They
turned onto Ben's block. The aching in his legs made him grateful to be close.
To his amazement, the jogger to his outside seemed completely fresh.
“Well this is me right up here,” Ben said, pointing to his house. “Maybe
we can meet up again some time for a run? I do things mostly by myself.”
“I have a feeling we will see each other around,” the man said.
Ben slowed to a stop at the edge of his lawn as the man continued past. “Good
bye, Ben.”
“Good bye ... um ...”
“Sorry, I should have introduced myself sooner. I'm Matt. Matt
McWilliams.”
Chris Cline, September 2016
“Alright, so-it’s kind of like
golf?”
“Probably the only similarity we
have with golf, but yes.”
“OK, so the race ends. You add up
the places of the top seven guys-”
“Top five guys.”
“Then-wait-what was the significance
of the top seven?”
“The top seven guys can displace. But
only the top five can score.”
“Displace. Right. I think I’ve got
it. I just need you to tell me everything again from the beginning. But
slower.”
Chris and Sam walked along the
perimeter of the park along the tree line. The freshman was holding a brown
clipboard on which he had created a row of names in a 16 by 3 grid. The senior
wore a stop watch around his neck that bounced gently on his chest as he
walked. The duo was in charge of collecting the splits of their West Chester
North teammates as they ran past the one-mile, two-mile and finish line.
Today was the first Cross Country
meet that Chris had ever attended and, based on the heightened energy around
the team, it was a significant one. West Chester North was facing off against
Great Valley, one of the best teams in the league. Chris didn’t think much of
their football program, but apparently they a strong history of producing
talented distance runners. The previous season, Great Valley had nipped North
by a single point to grab the final qualifying spot from their district for the
Pennsylvania State Championships. This race would be about revenge.
Despite the importance of the
competition, Coach Finley had elected to rest four of his runners, not only Sam
and Chris, but also juniors Andy Eggleston and Matt Schmidt. Instead of racing,
the quad of runners had done a short run and some 200-meter short intervals on
the track to help refine their speed. Andy was quite quick and led the
repetitions, but Chris had been able to stay with him for each one. On their
final sprint, they put nearly five seconds on Matt and Sam.
The remaining West Chester North
boys were gathered close to the start line, completing their final pre-race
strides. They were dressed in white singlets that featured a maroon “N” in the
center of the jersey. Clustered in the space alongside them, were their
opponents from Great Valley. They sported dark blue jerseys that said
“Patriots” across the chest in bold black lettering.
As Chris watched the teams prepare,
a particularly tall and lanky looking runner from the enemy camp caught his
eye. His stride was effortless, yet he covered ground quickly, gliding ahead of
his teammates with tremendous ease.
“Who is that?” Chris asked, pointing
at the runner as the gangly figure turned and called for his teammates to
huddle around him at the center of the field.
“The tall guy?” Sam squinted out
across the grass. “No clue. We haven’t raced these guys yet this year.”
“He looks pretty fast.”
“That’s ‘cause he is.” Andy and Matt
emerged behind them. They had been helping Coach Finley properly line and cone
the course within the park’s trees. “That’s Greg Zeimek. Kid split 1:53 last
year at Ches-monts.” Although Chris
didn’t understand what those numbers implied, he could tell from Andy’s tone
that it was impressive. He could also tell that Andy clearly didn’t like him.
“I hate that guy.” And apparently
Matt felt the same way. “Look at him, just prancing around, like, ‘Oh I’m king
of the castle, let all of my knights bow at my round table.’ Well this is
America, sir, and we don’t believe in castles here.”
“I probably would have went with ‘we
don’t believe in kings here’.”
“That’s why you’ll never be as funny
as me, Andy.”
A man in an orange official shirt
trekked out to the middle of the starting area and corralled the runners back
toward the starting line to prepare everyone for the start of the race. From all
sides of the stripe, the runners filed into position. They alternated every
other jersey; first Zeimek for Great Valley, then Captain Will Aldrich for
North, another Great Valley runner, and so on. Ten runners made up the first
row, then the others were free to fill in wherever they saw fit.
The official paced out some fourty
yards from the group once everyone was in position. He pulled out what appeared
to be a gun and began fidgeting with it at his side.
“Does that guy have a gun?” Chris
said, slightly concerned. He looked around at his teammates hoping for some
type of illumination. The official now raised the pistol straight above his
head and called for the runners to get set.
“Dude, get the stop watch ready!”
Andy exclaimed, tapping Chris enthusiastically on the back with his left hand
before raising it back to an anticipatory position over his right wrist. Now
thoroughly confused, Chris picked up the watch hanging from his neck. The
official fired the gun into the air and the runners took off. Around him, three
watches beeped. Catching on a moment later, Chris clicked his own start button
and watched as the seconds began to tick across the screen.
On the grass ahead, the runners
jockeyed for position as the course began to narrow. Will positioned himself at
the front with Zeimek right on his heels. A pair of Great Valley runners were
in second and third, but a massive pack of Warriors had settled in on their
heels.
“C’mon,” Sam called tugging at
Chris’s shirt. Andy and Matt had skirted away through the trees. “We have to
get to the mile mark for splits.” Together they followed the path their
teammates had carved out before them, weaving through plants and tree roots.
Sam ducked carefully under a branch that flung back and smacked Chris in the
face. He tasted pine needles briefly in his mouth.
Eventually, they reached the
clearing and wandered over to join the pair of juniors positioned at a spray
painted white line on the trail. A bold, white number one was painted just
beneath it. Just up the trail stood a brown haired girl with glasses and a
clipboard accompanied by a slightly taller, older looking man. He held a stop
watch like Chris and was examining it closely. They each wore blue shirts that
had “Great Valley” printed on the front.
“They should be here in another
minute or so,” the taller man said quietly to the girl beside him. “I’ll just
read off times from my watch and you can write them down for each runner.”
Chris noticed this was the exact same task Coach Finley had given to him and
Sam. I guess getting these ‘splits’ is
kinda important …
After a moment’s waiting, the first competitors
came into view. Will Aldrich of West Chester North was controlling the race
from the front. He looked relaxed and poised as he passed the duo. Chris read
from his watch aloud, “5 minutes, 5:01, 5:02 …” Great Valley’s top runner was
just behind and then a small gap. After a brief pause, the quad of North
supporters erupted into cheers as a pack of six Warriors came into view. They
were joined by just one Great Valley Patriot, although two more came past three
to four seconds later. “5:15 … 5:16 … 5:17 …”
In total some thirty runners came
past them. Chris was impressed by the times he was reading from his watch as
they passed. “6:10 … 6:11 … 6:12 …” Even the slowest members of the group came
through faster than seven minutes for the first mile. “6:28 … 6:29 … 6:30 …” In
gym class, Chris remembered running 6 minutes and 30 seconds for the school’s
fitness testing program. It had taken a fair amount of stamina and he certainly
couldn’t imagine maintaining that pace for over three miles. But that was before I started training,
he thought to himself. You can do this;
you just need to stay confident.
Eventually, once all of the North
runners had passed, Chris followed his teammates to the two-mile marker.
Fortunately, this spot was close to their current position and required little
navigating through bushes and trees. They arrived with five or so minutes to
spare. Andy and Matt stood a few feet away, discussing something quietly, while
Chris and Sam chatted about the race.
“Looks like the guys are running
pretty well,” Sam said, looking down the splits on his clipboard. “I think our
course is pretty quick.”
“Yeah, it doesn’t seem too hilly.
Footing isn’t bad.” He looked down at his feet and tapped the ground as if to
confirm it. “Any idea why Coach decided not to race us?”
“I’m not sure. He probably wants to
keep us fresh. Coach is always stressing to us how long the season is.”
“Yeah, I guess so. I just feel like
he keeps babying me, you know? Like I know I’m not going to be good right away
or anything, but I want to at least get out there and try. Prove I’m up for the challenge.” He thought back to the mile
splits he had called out a few minutes earlier. Prove I belong.
“Alright, Chris,” Matt said piping
in for the first time, “Since you asked, I’ve got a challenge for you.”
“Go for it,” Chris said, slightly
apprehensively. Although he had not been a member of the team very long, he had
quickly deduced that Matt and Andy were two of the more fun loving runners on
the roster. They enjoyed a good joke and weren’t afraid to put themselves out
there and risk looking silly.
“You’ve been here-what-a week?”
“Basically, yeah.”
“I want you to give me the names of
every one of our runners when they come by. And if you can’t,” he looked
sideways at Andy who smiled and gave a small nod, “then you have to introduce
us to the cheerleading squad.”
“And like a good intro too. Maybe
call us your best friends or the top two runners on the team or something.”
Andy added.
“Feel free to get creative.”
“And what do you have to do if I
win?” Chris asked with a small grin.
“Fair question. You’re not going to
win. But certainly a fair question.” Matt stroked his chin in thought for a
moment. “What is it that you would
want us to do?”
“I don’t know …” Chris said, looking
around the wooded trail. He spotted the girl with the clipboard approaching in
the distance. “You could try and get that girl’s number?” He said, pointing
covertly.
“Get a girl’s number? What are we in
fifth grade? C’mon Chris, I expected more from you.”
“Besides,
he already struck out with her last week.” Andy muttered barely audible
under his breath. Matt elbowed him in the chest as Sam snickered.
“Alright …” Chris said amused. “How
about … if I win, you guys have to hitch hike back to school today after the
meet … with a complete stranger?”
This new punishment seemed to get
the pair’s attention. Matt leaned in close to Andy and discussed the terms in a
whisper. After brief deliberation, Matt stuck out his hand for Chris to shake.
“We accept your proposal. First and
last name. Each runner.”
“No
helping, Sam.” Andy added.
“Deal,”
Chris shook with Matt and then Andy. Small cheers from up ahead signaled the
runners were nearing the two-mile mark. Breaking into view was North’s first
runner who had opened up almost a five second lead on his top pursuer. “Alright
… this is Will. Will Aldrich. He’s in my year.” Will approached, looking strong
and powerful.
“Don’t forget the splits!” Sam
exclaimed as he realized Chris’s distraction.
“Right, um,” he fumbled quickly with
the stop watch around his neck.
“10:17 … 10:18 … 10:19 …” Andy
called from behind him as Will passed through. Then he turned to Chris and
patted him on the back. “I’ll take care of the splits; you just get us those
names.” Chris nodded appreciatively and turned his attention back up the trail,
looking for the next white singlet. After Great Valley’s top runner (a slightly
tired looking Greg Zeimek) passed, Cline noticed a red headed boy in the
distance. Then, maybe a three second
gap. Behind him was a taller runner, just over six feet, with long brown hair and
matching stubble on his face. He was accompanied by a short, muscular runner
with darker hair. Then, a Great Valley runner, who was just off his shoulder
trying to hang on.
“OK so the red head, that’s Brandon
McGee … And then the taller one is Lowry. Jack Lowry. And the shorter one
that’s … um …” Chris paused for a second, waiting until he could get a closer
look.
“10:38 … 10:42 … 10:44 …”
“C’mon Jack! C’mon Travis!” Matt cheered
just behind him.
“Dude what are you doing?” Andy said
angrily. “Don’t give away any answers!”
“Sorry dude,” Matt said embarrassed,
“I forgot. Just wanted to cheer on our guys.” He turned to Chris. “Alright, so
we gave you the first name for free. What’s Travis’s last name?”
Chris looked at him skeptically.
“The shorter one is Austin Lynch.” He said, the name finally coming back to
him. “There’s nobody on our team named Travis …”
Matt shrugged his shoulders. “What,
did you think we weren’t gonna at least try
and mess you up?”
One by one the runners filed by,
some struggling to keep their pace, others powering past quickly. “That’s Mike
Rykken, the shorter one with the chin hair. And then that’s Ricky Collins. He
and Will are the two captains. Ricky’s pretty smart if I remember correctly,
isn’t he going to Dartmouth or something?”
“Chris, there’s no bonus points for
mother’s maiden name,” Andy said jokingly, “We just need first and last.”
“You getting nervous?” Chris replied
playfully. He continued to name the runners as they passed. “Kenny Brown …
Caleb Collins … Luke Wall …” Until the last runners came through the marker,
“Nick Meyers … Thomas Partridge …That’s everybody right?”
Chris said as he turned to run back towards the finish line for the race’s
conclusion. “So I win?”
“Not quite, yet,” Andy replied.
“Sam, can you jog by real quick?”
“Um … ok,” Sam said uncertainly and
he jogged along the path his teammates had just passed through.
“Alright, Chris … first and last
name?” Matt asked.
“You guys are kidding, right?” he responded
with a laugh. “He’s the only kid on the team I actually talk to … Sa-”
“Wait-” the freshman tried to
interject, but it was too late.
“-m Wikler.” Chris finished, now
looking at his friend confused. “What’s wrong?” He asked as Matt and Andy
grinned mischievously.
“Sam’s my middle name,” he said,
crestfallen. Chris’s smile disappeared. “My first name is … Wendell.”
“Wendell Wikler?”
“You can see why he doesn’t use it,”
Andy said, walking over and putting his hand on Chris’s shoulder. “My associate
will be in touch with my updated calendar.” Matt scribbled his phone number on
the clipboard that Sam was holding.
“Call me,” he said, putting a hand
on Chris’s shoulder just as Andy had. Then they ran off together toward the
finish line, rushing to try and make it back in time to see the finish. Chris
and Sam followed briskly in their wake.
“Sorry, Chris,” Sam said as they
jogged, taking a shortcut through some trees.
“No need to apologize to me,” he
said, avoiding a few low hanging branches, “The cheerleaders on the other hand
… you may need to apologize to them.”
The foursome emerged into the field
near the finish line just in time to watch the first runners come sprinting off
the final turn. Will Aldrich for West Chester North was in the lead, but Great
Valley’s Greg Zeimek was rallying right alongside him. Then, with about fifty
meters to go, Zeimek found one extra gear and sprinted clear of Aldrich,
crossing the line first.
“Shoot,” Andy muttered angrily, “I
hate that kid.”
“I thought Will would be able to
take him,” Matt said, surprised, “He never gets outkicked like that.”
“Well with Greg just sitting on him
all race, what else was gonna happen.” His bitter tone turned quickly as a pair
of North runners came flying into view. “Yeah, boys! Let’s go Brandon! Let’s go
Jack!” The two Warriors were well clear of the closest Patriot pursuer and
crossed the line comfortably in 3rd and 4th place.
“And there’s Austin and Ricky!” Matt
shouted. Just behind the second Patriot were two more Warriors, sprinting furiously
toward the finish line. “So that’s 2nd, 3rd, 4th,
6th and 7th. Who is good at math?”
“22 points,” Andy replied quickly,
“Doesn’t matter how the rest of this one plays out, we’ve clinched the win.” He
and Matt high-fived. “Great Valley? More like … Slightly Above Average Valley!”
“Got ‘em!” They high-fived again as
Sam and Chris laughed. With the victory safely in hand, they turned back to the
course to cheer for the rest of their teammates. Despite the fact that the meet
was already decided, Sam, Andy and Matt cheered just as enthusiastically as
they had for the scoring members of the team. In fact, they seemed to actually
be more excited by the results of the
junior varsity runners. For Chris, this was a pleasant surprise. Apparently, a
cross country team’s benchwarmers were just as loved and respected as their
stars. Slowly, he let himself become engulfed by the fervor.
By the time, freshman Connor
McIntyre came into view, battling stride for stride with an enemy from Great
Valley, Chris was screaming himself hoarse. He waved his arm wildly as the
freshman sprinted ahead, agony streaked across his face. “Dig, Connor! Dig!
Gooo!”
As he crossed the line, Andy split
his watch. “18:52!”
“Is that good?” Chris asked
hopefully.
“That’s like a 30 second PR for
him!” Sam said gleefully.
“So …” Chris looked around, still
confused, this time by the term “PR”.
“PR means Personal Record. So that
means he ran the best race of his life by 30 seconds.”
“And … 30 seconds is a lot, right?”
“It’s probably worth like 50 yards
passing.”
“Now we’re talking,” Chris said with
a smile. And he jogged over to visit the freshman, who was standing with his
hands on his knees. “Awesome run!” He said slapping the youngster on the back.
Connor looked up at him and beamed appreciatively. “That was really cool the
way you just sprinted-or, uh, kicked-him down at the end, I thought he might
get you back but you really-oh my gosh!” To his surprise, Connor had leaned over
and started vomiting across the grass.
“Let it all out, kid,” Matt said,
having arrived to join in the congratulations.
“Should I go get someone? A nurse
maybe?” Chris looked down at Connor with concern.
“No, you should go get Rosenwasser.”
“Why? Are his parents’ doctors or
something?”
“No, because we should show him what
it looks like when you race with some guts.” Matt looked proudly at Connor who
was now wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, a smile back on his face. “Now
that’s how you run a 5k.”
Chris turned his apprehensive gaze
toward Matt. Seriously, what is this
sport?
