The Race
They were the two
best. As opposing coaches described,
they could run like the breath of a cyclone.
Jimmy Klein was in his first year of high school. His closest rival was in his second. They were both lean and quick. Speed and endurance were the only ways to
compete in their chosen sport.
The trail for
today’s meet had a rugged feel from the start.
The bus ride had been long and rough to the northeast corner of the
state. Traffic on the highway had caused
the visiting team to be tardy, adding to the freshman’s anxiety. There’d been some rain the night before. The wooded portion of the course might still
be wet in spots.
These things have
a way of totaling up.
“Be aware of
roots,” Coach Preston had said, when they first arrived. “Roots can be more
dangerous than stones. Trust me, you’ll
see the stones. Roots, on the other hand
can be deceptive. A rolled ankle can
ruin your season.”
They were a few
weeks into the cross country season.
Five dual races in the books.
Jimmy finished first in each. His
best friend Nick was second. Two
freshmen leading a high school team, full of first and second year runners, to
glory.
The up state
rivals had a runner who was Jimmy’s equal.
He was a sophomore with a year’s experience under his belt. The trail was his school’s home turf. Jimmy had never seen the path slicing through
the woods, until today, during the walk-through.
The sophomore’s
name was Ralph. He seemed to size up
Jimmy during warmups. Ralph was taller,
by an inch or two, and had stronger looking legs. It was said that Ralph had torn up the
opposition with a magnificent kick at the end of his previous races. Coach Preston tried to make Jimmy care. To Jimmy it was just another race, and
definitely not the most important one he would ever run.
“You ready,” Nick
said, before adding, with a light hearted chuckle. “I’m getting tired of second
place. Today I’m feeling that third
might be in my grasp.”
“He is good,”
Jimmy replied. “We just run. Who knows,
maybe today is your day to cross the finish line before anyone else, including
me.”
“I’ll make sure
to keep that in mind when I fall fifty yards behind you.”
They started the
race at the retort of the gun. The race
would be three point one miles. Two
meets ago Jimmy set a new school record.
Coach Preston saw a championship for his team on the horizon, and
individual awards for his prized freshman runner.
None of that
mattered, once the gun fired.
They ran across
an open field, twenty-two boys, wearing the uniforms of the two schools competing. After a hundred yards the runners would
funnel into a trail that sliced through a wooded section, dominated by the
hazards of Mother Nature.
Jimmy, Ralph and
Nick separated from the pack not long after entering woods. The next two miles would twist, turn and
climb. Chipmunks and squirrels would
scamper away as the heavy breathing two legged monsters gave their best for the
color they wore.
Nick was falling
back, still well ahead of the pack.
Ralph was pushing Jimmy to his limits.
Then it happened. The one thing
Coach Preston had warned his runners about.
Only the errant stride didn’t belong to Jimmy or Nick. It was Ralph’s misfortune. The runner for the opposite team went down in
a heap.
Jimmy saw the
ankle bend in an awkward manner. He stopped.
“Go on,” he said
to Nick, as his friend caught up.
Nick seemed
uncertain. He continued to jog in place
as the pack rounded a distant corner.
“Go,” Jimmy
insisted. “Today is your day.”
Nick took off,
now the premier runner in a race where he should have settled for third.
As the other
runners passed Ralph and Jimmy, most glanced and kept running. A few promised to tell their coach, and send
help back. One stopped. A small kid from Ralph’s team. A kid who was destined to finish last. His name was Gabriel, like the angel.
The three of them
sat on a log. Ralph tested the
ankle. It wasn’t good.
“Probably not
broken,” Gabriel said. “A bad sprain though.”
Jimmy got to one
side of the root’s victim. Gabriel got
on the other. They had about a mile to
go.
“You didn’t have
to stop,” Ralph said as they moved along at a pace that could only be described
as haphazard, awkward, and slow. “This was your race to win.”
“Nick was due,”
Jimmy said.
“That the kid
that was pacing us?” Ralph asked.
“He was trying,”
Jimmy kidded.
“Still… Gabriel
would have stopped. Ain’t that right
Gabe?”
Gabriel replied
to his teammate, “I would have waited with you, back on that log. I’m sure the Calvary would have returned for
us in no time.”
“I did what was
right,” Jimmy said, as they neared the open field marking the race’s end.
A few runners
were heading back to help. Nick was
among them. Good thing. Jimmy and Gabriel were tired.
“Sometimes doing
what’s right makes you lose the race,” Ralph commented, just stating the obvious.
“The point is,” Jimmy replied, “not all races have a finish line.”
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