Rocket picked himself up from the gym floor. He shouldn’t have done those push-ups. He’d tried not to put any pressure on his hand, but it was impossible not to. The hundred sit-ups had been fine. He was used to doing five hundred a night, so he’d been among the first to finish, along with Kyle and Nathan. He was less thrilled that Cash had finished at the same time.
Chen hopped to her feet. She’d been drilling them with exercises for half an hour, and lots of guys were fading.
“I’m not sure if you noticed the track around the field when you came in,” she said, “but it’s there, and it has your names on it. Head out that side door, please — and move it!”
She took off like a jackrabbit to the door, beating them outside. She’d done all the exercises with the team and was faster than any of them. The boys filed out. Gold and Washington were standing on the track.
“Give me a Go Axmen Go!” Chen yelled.
A few guys offered a weak cheer.
“That just earned you twenty push-ups,” Gold said. “Next time make it count.”
Rocket groaned inside. Not more push-ups. He pounded them out painfully.
“So how about it?” Chen said.
Rocket joined in a loud cheer this time.
“Much better,” she said, clapping a few times. “Welcome to the ten-minute run, better known as the ‘Run With Death.’” The veterans groaned. “Rules are simple. Run around the track as many times as you can in ten minutes — then fall to the ground and catch your breath.”
“We’re looking to see who can fight through the pain,” Gold said. “If you’re looking to impress us, now would be a good time.”
“Hard at it, boys,” Washington said.
Kyle held out his fist to Nathan. “You ready?”
“Let’s go suffer,” Nathan said, punching it.
Rocket really hoped these guys would get a chance to make the team.
“How many laps you figure we can do in ten minutes?” Kyle said to Rocket.
The track looked smaller than an official one.
“Anything over seven would be pretty good,” he guessed.
“Line it up,” Chen called. She formed a circle with her thumb and forefinger, brought it to her lips and, when everyone was at the start line, let out an astoundingly loud whistle.
The guys pressed forward like a wave, chugging up the straightaway in a pack.
“Let’s make a move,” Nathan said, as they entered the first turn.
“Wait,” Kyle said.
The tempo remained high as they continued on to the second straightaway. Rocket settled into an even pace. His legs and shoulders were stiff from the earlier exercises, and he wanted to cruise through the first lap to loosen up. The pack was stretching out as they finished the third corner and headed back to the start line.
“You tired yet?” Kyle asked.
“You kidding?” Nathan said.
The pair shifted to the outside and motored up the straightaway.
“Run hard, boys,” Chen yelled, clapping her hands.
Gold was tapping away furiously on his iPad. Washington looked like he was taking a video with his phone.
A few of the guys gave Kyle and Nathan a hard time as they pulled ahead.
“Check out the dynamic duo.”
“Too bad you guys can’t skate that fast.”
“This is hockey, not cross-country.”
Kyle and Nathan took no notice and soon were ten metres ahead. A small group of guys began to pull away with them, and Rocket kept up. He didn’t want to lose touch with the front runners. Rocket had done his fair share of cross-country, and he ran almost daily to keep in shape. Gold had said this was a chance to impress, and Rocket wasn’t about to miss out.
Over the next five laps, the gap between the leaders and the main pack grew larger and larger until the leaders were almost half a lap ahead. All the guys were hurting, Rocket included. Sweat stung his eyes, and his chest and legs were burning. Rocket forced himself to ignore the pain, and he pushed himself hard around the second corner. He passed a few more guys as they headed into the back straightaway.
“How much longer?” gasped Rainer, one of the defencemen.
“What lap are we on?” Glassy said.
“Sept,” Bourque said.
“In English?”
“Seven.”
Glassy moaned. “Longest ten minutes of my life.”
“Sixty seconds to go!” Chen yelled, clapping away. “You guys are awesome — amazing!”
Rocket roused himself. He’d lost focus a bit after that last corner. Sixty seconds to impress. Kyle and Nathan were still out in front by three metres. He wondered if he could catch them.
“Good day, gentlemen.”
Rocket heard a pair of shoes running up behind him.
“It’s a great, great day for a run,” Cash said in a Scottish accent.
He cruised past Rocket, Glassy, Bourque and Rainer.
“Forgot to mention I was state cross-country champ — five times,” Cash laughed.
“Fancy-pants forward,” Rainer managed.
Cash didn’t let up until he’d passed Kyle and Nathan. Rocket gritted his teeth. Cash would win, and that’s all the coaches would see — their superstar was also a track athlete.
Rocket urged his aching body onward. Metre by metre he gained ground. Soon he grew level with Kyle and Nathan.
“Let’s do this,” Rocket said.
“Catch him, bro,” Kyle said. “I’m done.”
“Bring him down,” Nathan said.
Rocket was still two metres back. The pain was almost unbearable, but not as painful as the sight of Cash’s long, loping stride eating up the track. As Cash entered the corner, Rocket pulled even.
“Little Guy, I didn’t know you had it in you,” Cash said. “I’m almost impressed. You’re not going to beat the Cash-Man, though.” He ran ahead.
Rocket willed himself to keep up. “Wait for me,” he panted.
Side by side they powered through the corner to the back straightaway. A group of stragglers were about 50 metres ahead. Rocket felt lightheaded, almost sick. These ten minutes felt like three days. The corner loomed.
Tweet!
A shrill whistle announced the end of the race. The runners up ahead staggered to a stop, hands on hips or knees. Cash didn’t slow down.
“You’re not going to beat me, Little Guy,” Cash said.
“Ten minutes is over,” Rocket said.
“Then quit.”
Rocket desperately wanted to. But even more desperately, he wanted to win.
They came out of the corner in a dead heat.
“Make way,” Cash shouted. “Grudge match.”
“Go for it, boys,” Hoffer said.
“Little Guy can run. Go figure,” Gruny said.
Little Guy, Short Stuff Shrimp, Midget, Tiny Tim, Timbit, Peewee — the insults about his size were never-ending, and he’d been hearing them all his life. As his rage grew, his pain melted away. He was going to win.
Gold stepped onto the track and held his hand up.
“I’m the finish line. Go for it,” he yelled.
Guys had crossed the infield to watch.
“Come on!”
“Push it!”
“All the way!”
Cash was breathing hard now, too.
Ten metres.
Rocket summoned every last ounce of strength. Pumping his hands, driving his leaden knees, he threw his chest out. Cash leaned his head forward. Gold threw his hand down.
“Cash wins it!” Gold cried.
Rocket veered off the track and went down to one knee. He was seeing stars.
“Awesome performance, bro,” Kyle said. He draped his arm around Rocket’s back.
“The Cash-Man cometh first — again,” Cash said. He put his hands over his head.
“That’s what I call leadership, Cash,” Gold said. “That’s the kind of compete level we want.”
Gold held his fist out and Cash gave it a bump.
“Gather around me,” Gold said.
Rocket’s head pounded in rhythm with the beating of his chest. A centimetre — that was all he’d needed. If he hadn’t gone out so slowly, if he’d pushed it in the middle of the race … It didn’t matter. He’d lost.
“Did Cash actually win?” Nathan asked quietly.
Rocket took a deep breath. “I choked. I should’ve started out faster.”
“That’s not what I asked,” Nathan said.
Rocket thought about it. “It doesn’t matter now,” he said.
“You did come second out of more than fifty guys,” Kyle said.
“You and Nathan came third and fourth,” Rocket said.
“Technically, I came third.” Nathan grinned.
“Not bad,” Chen said to the team. “A special shout-out to Cash for winning and …” She looked over to Washington.
“Bryan Rockwood,” Washington said.
“… and to Bryan for that death-sprint to the end — loved it. Now, listen up. Mr. Gold is going to explain what’s happening next.”
“Thanks, Chenny,” Gold said. He poked at his iPad. “We’ll take forty-five minutes to get back to the rink and shower up. Then go to room 107 for some video work with me and Coach Alvo. Lunch follows, and then it’s a scrimmage. Lineups will be posted on the bulletin board in the lunchroom. Okay? Let’s hustle back.”
“Why don’t we run back?” Chen said.
“’Cause we don’t want to,” Hoffer said.
She laughed. “A nice and easy jog to warm down. It’s important to give the muscles a chance to relax, and the best way is exercise. Sounds crazy, but it works. That’s why the pros ride stationary bikes after games.”
She set off for the gate at the far end of the field. Rocket fell in mechanically behind the pack. Kyle and Nathan ran beside him.
Not a word was spoken. Rocket knew they were all thinking about the same thing. Would Gold care who came second, third and fourth? Would he tell Alvo? Or would he only remember who won?