Chapter Eleven

Chapter Eleven

Mark Miller, September 2016

A squirrel stood in the middle of the path, enjoying a patch of sun that had found its way through the high standing trees on either side. Her tiny head darted back and forth, as she sat quiet and, otherwise, motionless. It was a peaceful silence, but it was also short lived. The squirrel dashed across the ground as a distant pounding of footsteps engulfed the air and an army of legs rushed across the soft surface of the Green Valley Trail. Steadily, the swarm of runners traversed the path, running in small clusters, alternating between spurts of intense and relaxed efforts.

Beep beep … beep beep …

The harriers slowed their tempo to a recovery jog at the sound of the alarm. A few of them hit buttons on their wristwatches.

“How long til we go again?”  Ian panted, looking to his left at one of his taller teammates.

“Two minutes,” Mark responded, also struggling for air. “Rest is just … half the previous rep.”

“You think I can do math right now?”

“To be fair … I don’t think you can do it anytime.” 

A few members of the pack tried to laugh, but instead their strangled noises made them sound like choking victims. After the pseudo laughter died away, only the soft breathing and the pitter-patter of stride on trail broke the silence. As the seconds continued to pass by, the atmosphere around the group changed slightly. Some began to look around at one another in anticipation. Subconsciously, a few runners moved up the pack, poised to strike at a moment’s notice …

Beep beep … beep beep …

Like flipping a switch, the alarm sparked the group back into action, sending them flying across the path in something resembling a relaxed sprint. Ian took charge from the front to set the pace, flanked by his older teammate Sam Berkow. Mark hung tough on Ian’s left shoulder, but was struggling a bit with the pace. He kept checking his watch, hoping more seconds would tick off it. The only thing driving him to push forward was the knowledge that no one else within his training group was wilting. His competitive nature would not let him fall through the back.

With fifteen seconds or so left, Ian put down a mini surge, testing his peers. Only Sam was able to respond in earnest and the two edged a couple steps ahead before, to Mark’s appreciation, the alarm rang out again.

“One rep to go!” Ian said as the group returned to a more conversational pace. “Just four more minutes.”

Sam and Mark shared disgusted looks.

“Seriously, who says that?”

“Don’t tell me you’re the same person who cheers ‘half way there’ 800 in to the mile?”

“People like you are the worst.”

Ian smirked. “You guys feeling a little tired?”

In response, Sam broke from formation and wandered to the side of the path. He stooped down, picking up a short, thick tree branch.

“Here,” he said, extending the stick to a confused looking freshman. “Just hit me with this. Hard. Preferably in the knees.” His tone was remarkably serious and urgent. “I need an excuse to quit this workout.”

Mark shook his head and smiled. “You got thirty seconds there, hot shot.”

“Last chance,” Sam said, flashing one last look at the bewildered freshman, before tossing the branch aside and moving back to the front of the pack for the last rep. Despite his attempt at humor, the atmosphere around the group remained a bit tense and nervous. “Geez, loosen up you’d think we were doing a work-”

Beep beep … beep beep …

Ian took off at the sound of the latest alarm into the quickest pace he had set all workout. Sam, whose head had been turned around while talking to the group, was late to react and now trailed his teammate by a few stride lengths. He swore under his breath before putting his head down and taking off after McPearson’s streaking figure. Mark matched the pair’s efforts as best he could, running as controlled as possible without slipping from Ian’s left hip. By the one-minute mark, the trio had cleared the rest of the group.

As they pressed on into a small uphill, Mark could feel Ian turnover just a touch faster. He glanced to his right to see if his teammate would follow. There was no quit on Sam’s face. Grimacing slightly, Mark forced his long legs to quicken their cadence. Fighting the urge to check his watch, he tried to take his mind off his suffering. On the side of the path, he watched as a squirrel scampered quickly up a tree.

In a typical cross country invitational, each team is allowed seven runners in the varsity race. The top five finishers from each team are counted as scorers while the final two runners can displace other teams’ scorers and serve as insurance in case one of their top runners falters. Manheim Township returned five rising seniors from the varsity team, each of whom were expected to make up the scoring five. But two coveted spots were left up for grabs and Mark, Sam and Ian each had dreams of earning their first varsity letters.

Of course, only two of the three of them would be able to run varsity at the upcoming Gettysburg Invitational. As a result, the trio was constantly locked in ultra-competitive practices, each refusing to give any ground or hint at any weakness. The last intervals of workouts, or sometimes even an ordinary distance run, could seamlessly transition into a sprint finish where one runner sought to assert their dominance over the others.

Mark hated losing to anybody, but he especially hated losing to Ian. The two were great friends, but Ian had a knack for getting under his teammates’ skins. He was cocky, confident and loved to talk smack whenever possible. But after a summer of excellent training, he had had no problems backing up his big mouth. In fact, Ian’s personality seemed to bring out the best in everyone. Everyone wanted to beat him, but Ian was motivated by the target on his back.

Today’s fartlek workout had been no different. Two minutes into the final interval, Ian continued to hammer away, grinding through the trail. Sam pressed on at his side, unwavering and strong. But Mark was beginning to fade. His legs had become heavy and, every moment he lost focus, a small gap opened between him and his teammates. As his legs failed him, his breathing began to deteriorate as well. Each breath became increasingly wheezy and labored.

With just over a minute to go in the workout, it was Sam’s turn to make a bid for the lead. But Ian reacted immediately, refusing to hand over the pace for even a second. The jockeying had ratcheted the effort down to another gear that Mark just did not have. Gradually, they drifted away, leaving him alone and struggling. Now he was vulnerable, mentally weak and unable to motivate himself to push on. Unable to brush up against the barriers of mind and body. Wallowing in self-pity, he ran with his head down into another small up-hill. He was practically staring at his watch considering how frequently he checked the seconds remaining in the workout. 

As Mark struggled along, he could hear something sprinting behind him, rapidly closing in. Instinctively, he tried to react and find another gear to fight off the challenger. In a rush, his pursuer went past, the freshman Francis McNally, and, beyond a momentary, almost unrecognizable, surge it was a clean, effortless pass. Then, to Mark’s surprise, another body went flying by, working hard to hold tight to McNally’s shoulder. His friend and classmate Todd had also usurped him over the interval’s final seconds.

Beep beep … beep beep …

Mark’s newfound trio halted their efforts, changing into a painful trot. They moved at a pace slower than Mark’s mother powerwalked around the neighborhood, but they maintained their best attempt at the appearance of a jog. His head was spinning, but his thoughts were starting to organize as oxygen returned to his brain. Slowly, the realization that he had finished the workout behind not only Ian and Sam, but also Francis and Todd, washed over him. His main competitors for a spot on varsity suddenly seemed far out of reach.

“Hey … we’re done!” Mark yelled ahead to Sam and Ian who were continuing to duel along the trail. Neither had heard Mark’s final watch alarm go off form their position at the front.

“Maybe keep up next time, Miller?!” Ian called back, out of breath but with a noticeable layer of lighthearted jesting. “Are you trying to get a leg up on me?!”

“Maybe get a watch? At least one of you?”

“I’ll get a watch from your sister, if you know what I mean.” Ian said with a grin as he and Sam adjusted course to regroup with the rest of the pack before their cool-down.

“No one knows what you mean.”

“And I don’t have a sister.”

“How many times do we have to tell you man?”

Eventually, the group returned to a reasonable pace with Ian and Sam at the front, debating who was the bigger pace pusher. Mark, choosing to stay out of things, hung back to talk with Todd and Francis. Although he was frustrated with his own performance, that did not mean he could not appreciate his teammates’ excellent work.

“Nice workout today guys, thanks for helping me out that last stretch. I was falling apart.”

“Thanks,” Todd responded, shuffling along to his right. “Those guys were moving on that rep. How fast do you think we were all going?”

Mark shrugged. “No idea. But we are in great shape. Our JV squad could really make noise at Gettysburg. Didn’t Delaney win there last year?”

“Yeah. Last time he ever ran on our JV squad.”

Mark let his mind drift to a future where he, too, ran his last junior varsity race at Gettysburg. It was a future that seemed more farfetched than ever. Meanwhile, Sam and Ian began to pull away from the group. Distracted by their bickering, their focus on controlling the pace had lapsed.

“Should we say something?” Todd asked, gesturing at the increasing gap ahead. Mark smiled and shook his head.

“Nah, just let ‘em go. It’s better this way, I’m not trying to get sucked in to running fast right now.” His stomach was a mess and his body ached from his earlier efforts. Looking to take his mind of running, he changed topics. “Did you do the Bio homework yet, by the way?”

“I started it, yeah. It doesn’t seem like it’s going to be too terrible.”

“Alright sweet, now I know who to go to when I inevitably get stuck.”

Todd looked slightly embarrassed and responded modestly, “Well you also have your brother. Mrs. Galligan said today that he was the best student she’s ever had. Must be nice to have him around.”

Mark bristled. “Yeah … it’s great,” he paused awkwardly. “No pressure or anything.” He forced an uncomfortable laugh.

They were closing in on the inn that marked the end of the trail. A tall blonde figure was stretching on a fence, bordered by four other, wiry-looking boys. They gradually slowed to a stop as they made their approach.

“Nice day today, gents.” Mark extended a hand at both his sides. Todd and Francis each slapped one hand in response. “What did you think of your first workout, Fran?”

“It was … um … pretty good I guess.” He spoke quietly and unsure of himself, still acclimating to being a part of the high school team. The trio dropped to the ground, joining a vague attempt at a stretching circle. Mark half-heartedly reached for his right foot, feeling a gentle tug in his hamstring.

“Hey, can I ask you a question?” Francis asked in barely over a whisper. He was looking in the direction of Ian and Sam who it appeared had finally given up on their pace pushing quarrel.

“Go for it,” Mark responded, switching legs casually.

“Is it-like our workout that is-is it really called a-a ‘fart lick’?” he looked sheepishly from Todd to Mark. “That’s what Sam told me, but … I wasn’t sure if he was just trying to mess with me.”

Mark Miller November 1^st 2016

“How do I look?”

“Irish. Maybe like a 6 or 7 out of 10.”

“No I meant, how does my face look? Will everyone be able to tell I’ve been puking?”

“Nah man, there’s no way.”

Mark and Ian walked together across the grass back towards camp, having finished their review of the course. Each was a little sweaty, partially from their jog, partially from nerves. A group of six runners was gathered together around a blue and white tent. Some were sitting on the ground stretching; others were up and pacing back and forth. The atmosphere was tense, yet eager. As the final two members of the team approached, one athlete emerged from the tent to greet them.

“Hey guys, how is–geez Ian, you look terrible,” Sam said in a voice of mock concern.

Mark tried to turn his laugh into a cough. “Sorry, just a little tickle, nothing to worry about. Unlike whatever virus, you’ve got there Ian.”

“First: Screw you, you lying piece of-”

“-Just get to point two-”

“Second: I’m fine, I’m still gonna kick the crap out of the two of you out there today.”

“That’s fine. The farther away from me you are, the better, actually.”

Ian opened his mouth to respond again, but whatever he was going to say died in his throat as something in the distance caught his eye.

“You good Ian, should I get you a bucket?” Mark jested at his friend, pretending to search the tent.

“No, I’m-,” his tone changed to a more solemn one, “Looks like your family is here, Mark.”

The smile disappeared from Mark’s face in an instant as he whirled around to look for the approaching Millers. A few feet away he spotted a tall boy with blonde hair, flanked on each side by an older man and woman. A pair of crutches was clearly visible under each of his arms.

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