“What does 5K mean?”
Honest to God, those were first words he said to me, which is real funny when you think about it, after all that’s happened since. I knew he was the rebellious type right off, ’cause he was wearing a t-shirt, TOBACCO CHEWERS AIN’T WORTH SPIT. In these parts, they hand out blue and pink tins of Copenhagen at the maternity ward.
Still couldn’t see his eyes.
“That’s five kilometers. Three-point-one miles.”
His head came up. Saw his eyes. His eyes widened.
“Sounds a long way.”
He didn’t have the look I was looking for.
“You can take all the time you need,” I told him. Wanted to let him know distance isn’t a boogeyman. That the game of cross-country isn’t about length but about brevity, how quickly you can complete the course. “This isn’t a race, these are tryouts. Just so you can see how you like the sport.”
“Thinkin’ maybe how I might like a shorter sport better.”
“The simple answer,” I suggested, “get it over with as soon as possible, right?”
The kid allowed himself a smile. More shy than sullen. I asked him why he wanted to run. He said he wanted to get in shape, maybe find something he could enjoy.
He wasn’t what you’d call talkative, not like he is today, and he seemed a little restless, like he was in a hurry to get somewhere else, anywhere else.
As he headed out the door, I called after him, “Boy, what’s your name?”
His head spun around in a blur. “My name is Brooks, Brooks Rocque.” He paused. You could see he was trying to hold back his temper. “And don’t ever call me boy again.” Leaving, the bright intensity in his eyes, pale blue and burning, that was it, the look.
Slammed the door behind him, too. Wouldn’t be the first time, not by a long shot. Tell you the truth, if you had asked me right then, I’d of told you I never expected to see him again.
***
I was at the park early. I could see the course lined out, a trail of white flour described a mile-long loop which disappeared and reappeared through the woods and across the fields. Never noticed how hilly the place was.
Coach Pro was already there with his cross-country team, a bunch of skinny guys in fancy warm-ups and special racing shoes looked like something left over from Star Wars. And big black wristwatches you could do your homework on. I was wearing the same red basketball jersey I habitually wore, Chicago Bulls number 23, baggy shorts and a pair of old cross-trainers, supposed to be good for a lot of sports but not really worth a damn at any. All my other shoes are hightops.
I read somewhere once, you can race a distance about three times your training, so I had put in a fast mile every day since the notice was posted. Three days. Figured I’d deal with the final “point-one” when I got there. If I got there.
Stood off to one side. Knew Coach Pro was watching me, that’s why I did the same loosening up exercises as all the studs, jogging, stretching, nothing too strenuous. So far I could keep up.
Then he called us all together. He made some lame joke about how all the kids who had come solely for the free plaid shirts should probably just spend their time skateboarding. Then he explained the course.
We were to start in the middle of the big pasture where old Jim Foxx had killed a couple dozen Native Americans while stealing their land. That’s how he came to be known as “Red.” Just kidding, getting nervous, thinking about those hills, I guess.
You run maybe fifty yards until you came to this stonewall, maybe three feet high, which funnels everybody through to a roadway about a single lane wide. Then you’re in among the trees, along the banks of a big creek, there’s this trail which ribbons its way up and down, up again, go through another stonewall, before the final dash to the finish.
Coach Pro kept the rules simple enough. Stay close to the white line and get back here as soon as you can.
Before I knew what was happening, I heard a gun go “BANG!” and everybody took off like a bat out of hell. For a moment there, thought I was going to get trampled.
Hey, wait for me.
Took off as fast as I could go. Dodging this way, zigging this way, zagging, just trying to get around the pack. Smashed my way through a couple kids running together, before I noticed they were girls.
Oops.
***
This is part deux. Hope you read its precedent.
TO BE CONTINUED – JDW