DAD WAS IN THE KITCHEN, waiting for me. He made me a quick breakfast of toast and eggs, then rifled through my gym bag and made sure I had packed everything before we headed out. I guess he sensed I was pretty out of it.
Mom met me in the hallway before I left and told me she would be driving to the meet with Mary.
“Mom, it’s all right,” I told her. “Maybe you should get some rest.”
“I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” she said.
We were on the road for just thirty minutes before Dad tried to coax me into talking about the race. “What’s the race plan today, Leo?” he asked gently.
“I don’t have one,” I told him, because I didn’t. “Gun goes off. I run. That simple.”
Dad read my energy. I flipped the radio on and pressed the buttons until I finally found a song I could tolerate. I listened for just a few seconds before Dad punched the button again and changed the station. “Sorry,” he said, sighing. “That song reminds me of your mother” was all he said.
“How?”
“Do yourself a favor, Leo, and focus on running this race.”
That pretty much ended our conversation. I looked out the window at the fields of young corn, now a foot tall above the freshly plowed earth.
The state meet was held at Lincoln University. When we arrived, the meet was already under way, and the stadium was packed. I jogged in the parking lot to stretch out my legs after the two-hour ride. Hearing the loudspeakers awakened my nerves, and now I was glad we’d arrived late. I decided not to enter the stadium but hang out by the car with Dad and listen to music for a while.
An hour before the race, I found Gorsky in the bleachers and checked in with him. Curtis was beside him. They both knew I didn’t like to talk much before a race.
Gorsky smiled and placed his hands on my shoulders. “You know what to do,” he said, “but you’re going to need to dig down.”
I looked the old man in the eyes and knew he was on my side. “Any advice?” I asked.
“Keep it simple, Leo. Just win the damn race,” he said. “You’ve earned this. Channel your energy. The race is only four minutes. Don’t be afraid.”
For once in his life, Curtis didn’t open his mouth. He acknowledged me with a fist pump to his heart. I left the bleachers and began my warm-up.
We were given the final call for the race well before we were even allowed on the track. They kept all sixteen sweaty, nervous runners crammed together in a tiny tent for fifteen minutes. I felt like I was going to burst out of my seams corralled in there. Finally, the loudspeaker announced our event and the marshals let us out at the far end of the track.
I was assigned lane four, and I had to walk the hundred meters in my lane to the starting line as they announced our names. I jumped up and down and tried to bring my muscles back to life, but my head still really wasn’t in it.
I spotted Gorsky in the stands first. Although he was far away, I saw his head nod. He raised his hand, made a fist, and tapped his heart. Curtis was next to him, with my father sitting alone three rows behind them. Then I spotted my mother sitting next to Mary, a couple of rows in front of Gorsky and Curtis. I tapped my heart with two fingers and pointed to her.
The marshals gave us one last minute to warm up and get loose. I did a final stride on the first curve of the track, then returned and positioned myself on the starting line. There were two of us stacked to a lane, a staggered start that would break at the turn. Arthur Fletcher was to my right in lane five. He turned and glared at me before squaring himself for the start. I knew that I had trained to win, and I knew that I wanted to win. But at the moment I doubted that I had anything left in me. Then I remembered Gorsky’s words. I wasn’t going to let anyone in this race think I was afraid.
When the gun blasted, I allowed myself to get sucked into the momentum of the pack. When we hit the turn and everyone broke for the rail, I found myself tangled in knees and elbows. This time Fletcher held back and let someone else be the rabbit and press the pace. The first lap was quick but manageable. All sixteen of us were running in a tight clump as we completed the first lap in 61 seconds, a respectable split. Some of the spectators stood up, thinking this might be the race of the day.
I was running in the thick of it, tucked in behind the first five runners, when I felt a foot clip my ankle. I lost my balance and spun forward onto the tarmac. Runners parted themselves, trying to sidestep my flailing arms and legs. I fell forward, tucked my head, and hit the track shoulder first and somersaulted. When I popped back up, I caught Fletcher looking over his shoulder with a little grin. He dropped his right arm for a split second on the backswing and flipped me the bird. Then that bastard took off and began to press. I rolled back up on my feet, watching the pack pull away, and I continued running. I was twenty meters behind, but now I was pissed.
I spent the second lap in no-man’s-land. Trying to close the gap now would be suicidal, so I just maintained my pace and didn’t let them get any farther ahead. The scoreboard clock showed the leaders through the half in 2:04. I crossed the line three seconds behind them, in last place.
They slowed on the backstretch, and I caught the last runners on the far turn. Now I had the collective energy of the group and worked off their draft. I settled in during the third lap and prepared for the finish.
As we hit the back turn into the homestretch that third time, I made my move. I surged from the back and began passing runners. When I came up on Fletcher’s shoulder, he heard my breathing and looked back. I could see the fear in his eyes now. It was my turn to grin.
Fletcher and I headed down the homestretch together, positioning ourselves for the final lap. I was on the outside as the final bell rang, and I tried to squeeze Fletcher into the rail. He prodded my elbow on its backswing, and I nudged him back. Then Fletcher caught me under my arm just below the elbow and knocked me off balance again. I stumbled into the third lane but was able to steady myself. As I closed in on Fletcher’s shoulder, Snell broke between us and took the lead on the backstretch. Now I was running in third place. It was a three-man race.
Rounding the final turn, I couldn’t see or hear anything except the back of Fletcher’s singlet and the pounding of my heart. My lungs were searing and my chest felt like it was going to blast apart. Then I saw the tape across the finish line, and I said to myself that this was mine. I unleashed my kick with fifty meters to go and finally broke the race open for good. I split the tape in 4:10 and then just kept on moving.
I really didn’t want to run another step, but almost by reflex I launched into my victory lap. I slowed to a gentle trot and exchanged handshakes with a few guys on the first turn, then kept running.
I thought about Caleb and the fact that I would never have to run away from him again. I thought about the irony that my success as a runner was due in large part to him. By the time I hit the back turn, I was tired of being alone. I looked up into the stands and found Gorsky, Curtis, Mary, Mom, and Dad. Even though they were just dots in the distance, I felt their presence beside me.
By the time I hit the homestretch, I was running full tilt.