Coach thinks it best that I take the week off from running and heal. Coach thinks it that you just rest your leg for
Mattoon.
I want to tell Coach that I don’t care about
Mattoon. I want to tell coach that all I really care about is trying eclipse my
cousin’s record. I want to tell him
that even if it is the last race I run for a year I want nothing less than one
more shot to circle tautly manicured trigonometric circumference of Madison golf
course one last time.
Because of a medical note I get excused from early
bird PE. Every morning instead I go down
to the pool where Mrs Bruington keeps her office. Every morning I shower and step into my
Umbros and lace up and old pair of Reebok sneakers. Every morning I lower
myself in the pool and begin performing laps in the three feet end, running 50
meters, against water, sometimes carrying ten pound dumbbells in each hand.
I am trying to get healthy. I am trying to arrive in
that place where I know I should be.
Sometimes a Mexican student who looks like Rosie
Perez helps Mrs. Bruington out. Mostly I keep to myself. I fifteen laps in and
then hit the shower. I still hurt.
The pool is located directly across from the record
board.
I try not to think about my cousin’s Fresh record
and how, because of the injury, I will not be able to annihilate on the course
even though my time at the Morton invite would have easily
After school I go back to the pool. Some of the
female swimmers and practicing even though their season doesn’t star for a
number of weeks. Mrs. Bruintgon is really cool. She comments my work ethic.
Coach thinks I should be ready for Matoon, which is
three hours away.
After practice I sit in coaches office.
“My body might not be a hundred percent but my mind
will be.”
Coach smiles.
“Hey, I know you are really bummed about what
happened but just remember this. You are a freshman. You clocked some amazing
times. You have three more years ahead of you. It’s better that this injury
happened right now than when you are a senior and you are running at a more
elite level.”
I nod. I am
frustrated. Part of me wants to go home and run. Part of me always looked at
running as time to vent emotionally, to empty all the craziness and confusion
and hurt and dreams.
In a way I feel like the Young Columbus all over.
In a way I feel l like I have failed.
***
ReplyDeleteIt is six days til’ Matoon.
“I talked with y our folks, you need to take a week off of running and just take some time to heal.”
He is gentle. He is positive. He tells me that I didn’t do anything wrong. He reminds me that I am still only a freshman.
I want to ask him if I can run this Tuesday vs. Notre Dame at Madison simply because it is my last meet. Simply because it will be my last chance to break my cousin’s record of 17:20.
Even though I can barely walk I am almost certain I can do it.
Since Pekin where he barely finished in the top ten Peacock has set PR’s every race. He is our fastest runner, his straw hair and gentle countenance, he is accelerating on the course. Other teams are making note that he is elite.
I want to run with my team. Coach tells me to do laps in the pool.
I wear Umbros instead of the gray panties that boys swimteam wears. I have my now lane. I practice going back and fourth, treading against the aquatic swill of nasal-arresting chlorine.
I am fighting. I am willing my body to be healthy again. At night before I go to bed, even if it hurts, I drop on both knees and pray for a shot.
I will not get a final chance at the FROSH record.
It’s not my fault. Somehow I feel that I have failed.