Meet Number five: Morton Invitational

The day after our movie is the Morton Invite. It is three miles on road. It is cross-country race only it is on road which I have been excelling at my entire life.
The course is flat. Our varsity only consists of six runners whereas seven is the norm. I am thinking about Renae. Coach is saying that two years ago when we had all-stater Robert Clark and when Jose was in top shape we won this meet.

“We always perform well here,” he says. When Coach isn’t looking Quaynor says its because us niggers used to running on the streets from the poe-leece.

“All these other white boys run better on grass cause they like grow up on the country club and shit. That’s why we always be runnin’ good here. We used to running fast when we hear the crack of the gun”

We are doing warm up sprints. We are stretching. At the snap I take off. Somehow break fast. The entire group morphs into a clotted arrowhead. 400 meters in and I am fifth, jostling for position, mindful about being a rabbit, wondering if I broke from the start too fast. The course is straight shot through town, boomeranging a mile and half out before streamlining back.  Somehow  find myself hanging with runners who are some of the best in the area code. Somehow I am comfortable and not breaking a sweat. I am focused. A group of three  break ahead.  I can still see the lights of the lead truck.  Instead of keeping up I am finding a pace, keeping my stride steady, keeping my arms at bay.

My first mile is 5:04. It is fast.

 

I see Coach at the first mile. He gives me a look like I went out way too fast.  I am comfortable.  Peacock is somewhere behind.

 The lead pack is not that far ahead of me. I continue to push. Continue to drill. I think about how dawn Michelle is lavishing her senior year. I think about how Renae Holiday’s forehead was the size of the movie screen and how she smelled brand new. I am thinking about decimating the digits of my cousin's record at the next meet in Madison golf course a week from Tues.

For a second meet in a row Peacock is nowhere to be found.

At the mile and half mark the lead runners swerve, circling a domestic block, running on the opposite side of the road so that we see those who are behind.  At the block turn there still is no sight of Peacock. I try not to think that I am eighth. I am just running my race.

 

As I turn I am passing a stream of  faces. I see the first three of the Central team running together, looking at me in awe.  Peacock is right behind them running his race. Every time I see a Manual teammate I yell out his name. I tell him he is looking  good.  I tell him to keep on fighting. LoGrotto is almost directly behind Peacock. Further back running at a solid six minute pace is Leatric and Quaynor.  I can only imagine what Coach is thinking.

 

Beano is way back. He looks like he is dog paddling. He is running as if he doesn’t care.

I tell him to keep fighting. I then begin to push. With the two mile mark pending I insert a surge and count to two hundred steps. I pass two kids from Metamora who will run in the state meet in six weeks time.  The two mile mark I see Coach looking down into his watch. He looks again.

 

I am at 10:09 the second mile. I cannot believe my splits. Peacock is nowhere in sight.  I am thinking about Renae’s breath next to mine. I am thinking about groping her finger tips in the buttery tub of popcorn. I am thinking about the glaze of her forehead. I picture her tight-jeans and her smile. It feels like she is waiting for me at the finish line. It feels like her midriff is somehow magnetized and is reeling me faster  into the direction of the finish line. We are wending through hoity-toity section of Morton with brick houses that look like they are part of a contiguous year round Christmas Village. I am only a freshman.  The lead pack is still not that far off. 

I am ahead of Peacock. I am ahead of the entire Central team that beat me less than a week ago. My entire body is drilling away. It is like I am shadow boxing an invisible entity in front of me while running  into him head on at the same time.

The time I clocked would have decimated my cousin’s record on Manual course bty over a minute and a half.

 I had a beautiful girl on my arms the night before.

It feels like I have finally arrived.

 

I am with a more elite crowd  

 

I swear I hear Renae cheer my name.

In the last hundred meters I see Bitner from Central who beat Peacock at Madison park and is Central’s fastest runner. I am pushing myself. He jilts when he sees me.  As if he cannot believe that I have spent the bulk of the race ahead of him.  He seems to gallop past me in slow motion. There is fifty meters left. Perhaps I went out too fast the first mile.  Perhaps I gave it all too early. For the second in a row I will have finished ahead of Peacock.

I am Manual’s fastest runner.

 

As I go to pass him he lifts his leg where I would step on the back of his heel. My step is off. I do a shuffle ball chain. There is 25 meters left.  Somehow I feel Renae all around me. Somehow it feels like she is melting over me. Somehow it feels that if I catch can Bitner  I can be flooded with whatever it is I felt last night when I was around her. Somehow I can smell her on me. Somehow I can’t get rid of her scent. Somehow I can’t stop drooling over her lips.   Somehow I can feel her erupt when she bites her lip, creaming at me to run, telling me to go as fast as I can.

                                                              

                                                                       ***

At the end of the race I see Di Greggorio, who was in the Young Columbus with me last December.

 

“Hey, Man, I don’t know if you remember me.”

 

“Von Behren!!!”

 

He comes up and shakes me hand. Just when I am about ready to inquire that I didn’t think Woodruff was in this race I look and see that he is wearing a Metamora Redbird jersey.

 

“I thought you went to Woodruff. I even looked for you at our first week. Did you move?”

 

DiGreggorio has a smile on his face. He holds a finger in front of his lips and coughs over it insinuating that I should shhhh!

 

“No. I just used my grandmas address. You know what sort of Cross- country team Woodruff has. This was the only chance I have to go to state.”

 

“What about your route man?”

 

DiGregorio places hi hands to his lips again.

 

“I still have my route. But ya know. I get up early and commute thirty minutes to school to run early with the guys. It’s dedication. Finally after years I feel like I’m a part of a team.”

 

Several more of Digreggorio’s teammates slap him on the back He finished in the top five.   He was Metamora’s overall top finisher.  Before I leave and find Coach DiGreggorio turns back to me.

 

“Hey man, Where’s Munoz?

"Nobody knows." I say honestly, keeled over, still out of breath.

Nobody Knows.


                                                         ***

I finish in the top fifteen. Coach lets me know that I was the first freshman to cross the  finish line. Peacock ran his fastest time of the season and finished just under seventeen minutes
Logrotto will finish third on our team and also have a personal best. Leatric will also have a best time.  

The top five scoring from our team all finished the course under eighteen and half minutes.

 

Finally we have team.

 

There are girls wearing their boyfriends varsity  Coats from Midwestern high schools I have never heard of before.  Schools with names like Olympia and Porta and Carlinville.   For some reason I look for Renae. Coach hands me a vial of water. There is a look of pride on his face. A look that after all the hard work over the summer, after the ill-timed departure of our captain everything will work out. For the first time all season our team finishes in the top ten at a major meet.

As I look in the front row I swear, just for a movement, I see Kim Zmeskal. She is petite. She is wearing her boyfriends’ varsity jacket.

She looks at me and smiles.

We are hungry. Peacock tells me good job. Coach continues to extol our performance.
With the exception of Bitner I beat all of the professional  shit-talkers on  Central’s squad.

Sheep Dog boy was over a minute behind.  He ate my taco dust. 

 

At he end of the race Coach addresses both myself and Peacock as gentleman. He shakes both of our hand firmly.

For the first time wearing a Rams uniform I feel a sense of connection.

For a first time I feel a sense of almost unbridled pride.

Coach  states that even though we only had six runners we would have easily placed in the top three had Beano not been farting around .I would have decimated the time in the Junior varsity race had I not been running varsity I would have won by over a minute.

 

Had the race been on Madison Gold Course the FROSH record would be mine.

“Gentlemen, Good race. Good race.”

I look wear I swear I see Renae Holiday only after blinking several times it is my dad. He is wearing his derby cap and he is smiling. The silver filling inside his teeth are visible.

The most beautiful smile I have ever seen.

He is proud of his only son.