*****
My family was poor growing up. Not so poor that we missed meals, just poor enough that our shoes sometimes had holes and our clothes were often several years behind because they once belonged to a cousin. When you are young things seem frozen in time because you've experienced so little and those memories stay with you for a lifetime.
Of course, you don't realize this as a kid.
Both my parents were the black sheep of their families. That moniker is probably a bit too strong yet my siblings and I definitely noticed a lack of attention given to us vs. our cousins. My mom's brothers both worked for my grandfather and we couldn't help but be a little jealous when everyone else did a little better at Christmas. None of our cousins had to carry the different colored punchcard noting you paid less for lunches. My dad's sister lived with my grandparents and from what we saw they showered my cousins with gifts and nice clothes.
It was hard to feel like you didn't matter. Our little family had one other and that was enough but over time if outsiders see you as white trash eventually you start to believe it.
One thing I had was sports. The school held an end of the year Olympics and I dominated from the start. Short races. Long races. Throwing contests. Push-ups. Sit-ups. No one could beat me.
I remember that first year running to my grandmother's house holding my five first place ribbons. She was our babysitter and I proudly placed them on the kitchen table next to my oldest cousin who'd only won a 3rd place ribbon in some non-athletic event.
My grandma's response? "That's really good. Did you see your cousin won too?" I tried to explain to her that I had five ribbons. They were 1st place ribbons! He only had one and it was third place. The more I tried to explain the madder she got and before I knew it, I was spending the rest of the afternoon in a bedroom where 'I had to think about what I'd done'. I stewed all afternoon as I cried bitter tears because my grandma was punishing me for being the best.
Of course, I understand now why my grandma was mad. Kids rarely think about other people's feelings and I’m sure my cousin felt bad. I really only wanted her to be proud of me.
Not every sporting event went my way. I signed up for basketball when I was old enough but before the first game, I realized I didn't have any shoes. I came up with the brilliant idea to wear my leather church shoes. As I recall I wore green socks to go with my blue shorts and a t-shirt that had no logo. I think my coach took one look at me and decided to keep me on the bench as a kindness though he did sub me in at the end of the game.
I think I surprised everyone by getting a steal almost immediately. I remember running down the court and I knew no one could catch me, even while wearing wingtips. I can only imagine that loud pounding as I ran up the court but I didn't hear it. I saw the basket as I continued at full speed.
I'd never played much basketball before that day and I haven't played much since. It's not my game but I didn't realize that until I got to about the foul line and found that leather shoes don't grip well on a basketball court. Everything else became a secondary concern as I slid under the basket and I threw the ball wildly into the air before crashing hard against the padded wall.
I opened my eyes to the sound of the crowd’s laughter as my coach helped me up. He led me back to the bench where I sat the rest of the game. The coach said I made the basket but I'm pretty sure he was being nice.
A couple of years later we moved to a bigger town so my Mom could find a better job. My parents had divorced by then and after a couple of awkward years, life settled into a routine. I rarely saw my grandparents. Christmas, Thanksgiving, Memorial Day, Fourth of July. That was it. At those occasions, they regaled us with stories of our cousins' exploits. I'm sure it wasn't as bad as I remember but I do know they never missed one of their games. They never came to any of ours even though it was only a 30-minute drive.
*****
At this point, you may be wondering why I'm going on rehashing old memories but I'm trying to set the scene. By the time we arrived at my new school, I had very little self-confidence. I struggled to make friends as I'd become so introverted I rarely made eye contact with anyone.
That is until I played sports.
It was my one refuge. Football. Baseball. Definitely not basketball.
I made friends. My grades improved. We were living in a nicer place. I no longer had to carry a reduced lunch card. I no longer wore my cousin's hand-me-downs.
I never really gave track much of a thought as a sport. I liked sports that combined hand-eye coordination but I also knew from my grandparents that one of my uncle's had made All-County in the mile. It was gym class that changed everything. One day they timed me at a 5:30 mile without any training while wearing leather shoes although these, fortunately, had rubber souls.
The track coach contacted me the next day.
Three years later I’m a senior holding my head high as I walked through the halls of my school. Letter Jacket. Captain's pin. Track, Cross Country, and Football. I quit the latter when I realized my chances of a scholarship were greater in the other two. I'd gone to the state meet the year before. I'd been all-district since my sophomore year in track. Runners from the entire metro area knew me by reputation. I was a grinding runner. I pushed hard in the middle of races but I had no kick at the end.
One thing hadn't realized at the time is that life is a series of ladders. You climb one and there's always another above it. I didn't know when I moved to the new school that I was still nearer to the bottom rung. The town was five times bigger than my old school but noncompetitive in most everything. We saw ourselves as a school full of mutts. The people that lived there were hard working yet few of them had anything you could call real wealth. Many of the kids at school took jobs after school rather than waste time on sports.
We lost at everything. The football team won a total of four games during my time there. My track team wasn't much better. Neither was the cross-country team. The 2nd best runner on the team my senior year ran the 5000 meters a full minute slower than me.
I didn't give much thought to any of that when we got off the bus at the richest school in the area. The place reeked of old money. The parents spent extravagant amounts on their children and they, in turn, ended up as doctors, lawyers, and politicians which continued the chain.
When we lined up I had the same thought as always. Do my best. We knew we were going to lose but I also knew I was faster than everyone on their team except for two of their runners. I'd take it out slow and then start picking off runners like always. I didn't know their coach knew me and had a strategy.
I didn't notice anything at first. I was sitting in the perfect position at the quarter mark, about three strides behind the leader and about to make my move. I didn't notice the leaders had set an especially slow pace and I didn't bother to take advantage. In smaller races, it is too easy to sprint yourself out early and have nothing left at the end.
My first awareness of being targeted was when a runner arrived on my right adding to the one in front and the one to my left. More of them arrived as I tried to get out of the box. Eight runners in all. A perfect square with me in the middle.
If you've never run in a large group, it can get a bit scary at times. In cross country, everyone is wearing spiked shoes and it is important for everyone to match stride length or you can get hurt. All it takes is for one person to get off their stride and the whole group can tumble.
On the other hand, it is important to keep a steady pace because breaking your stride exerts a lot of energy. The guy directly in front of me kept purposely slowing down and speeding up, breaking my stride about once every twenty seconds and I knew I had to get out.
I used my shoulder to move right but all three runners anticipated that and met me in a kind of moving rugby scrum. I moved to the left and ran into the same problem. Now I'm getting mad. I look behind me and see no jerseys with my colors. I'm on my own. One of the other runners laughs and its everything I can do not to lay them all out. It would have been easy. Use my football ability and shoulder tackle the guy in front of me then turn him to the left. It would have taken out at least four of them.
Of course, there we the potential of getting spiked and another thought went through my head - ‘Can you get suspended from school for starting a fight at a cross country meet?’ I decide to stay in the box, my stride breaking every twenty steps and I start to tire. I think the leaders sensed it or had prearranged something because at the same moment all eight broke away with the best runners taking off at a semi-sprint. I tried to follow but found my legs wouldn't respond. I passed a couple then they passed me.
I could see each one of them smirking as they passed. I was raging inside but there was little I could do. Every time they went but I couldn't help but remember they were part of the haves. I was part of the have-nots. Every false smile was a reminder of where I fit into the universe's equation. I wasn't good enough.
I ran hard. I possibly put more effort into the back half of that race as I did all year but it didn't matter. I think I finished 7th. Dual meets only count the top 5 runners for each team so we’d been shut out. A total wipe-out. It was the only time it happened during my time on the team and I could see the runners on the other team were laughing when I finished.
I wanted to punch them. I was bigger than most of them. I never had the body of a runner. I looked more like a defensive back, shorter, thicker, and bigger. I could take any of them one on one. I'd find their best runner and punch him. The rest of my team would be getting to the finishing line soon. They might not be great runners but mutts are famous for always having each other’s back.
Instead, I fell to the ground. I knew I was close to crying. I covered my face so no one could see but that fact didn't matter. I couldn't stop myself. I felt my eyes watering. Deep down I knew they were right. I wasn't good enough. I'd been told that my whole life. White trash. 2nd class. Unwanted.
It only lasted a couple of seconds before one of the girls on our team asked if I was ok. The macho part of my soul wouldn't allow me to stay down and I stood, hoping sweat had covered the couple of tears I knew had stained my face. I saw both of my parents as I headed for the bus. Neither had missed a single one of my sporting events in high school and I felt like I’d let them down. I avoided looking at either as I ran to the bus.
*****
I wasn't thinking about that race a month later as I stood on a different starting line. This race was much bigger and matched some of the best runners from all over the state. The starting line in these races are akin to a mob and I knew I had to go out fast to avoid being lost in the pack.
The meet was on a golf course and we lived close enough that I'd played on it a couple of times. The start was near the green on the 1st hole, a 400-yard slight dogleg left but it was hard to tell with a couple hundred runners milling around. I got a great start and sprinted towards the clubhouse where a large flag showed the first turn. I was in the lead when we got there and knew I'd made a mistake. Too fast. I eased back hoping to save some energy for the big hill.
The Hill. Stories of 'The Hill' were told to every wide-eyed runner when they joined the team. The height got taller with every telling but it was rather imposing, a climb of at least 150 feet at around a 20 degree angle. It was the first place everyone went to warm up as soon as they arrived at this race.
I could see it looming in the distance as the first couple runners joined me. They bounded up the slope and I did my best to keep up. I was in fifth by the time we hit the downslope and feeling bad. I knew that only the top 10 finishers made all-district and I was helpless as another two runners passed me.
A cross-country race is much different than any other sport I have tried. It's so boring you can't help but have a thousand thoughts as there’s little thinking involved just continued effort. The key is to relax so your mind starts to drift. All of my old insecurities came rushing back. I don’t remember much of the next half mile. I don’t know how many people passed me as we began the second lap.
The golf course wasn’t big enough to have a single lap course for the entire 5000 meters. It took two laps and I imagine I was about 15th when I passed the starting line for the second time. I didn’t sprint up the 1st hole like I’d done at the start. I could hear my Mom’s shouts and I knew my Dad and stepmom were out there somewhere as well. Of course, none of my grandparents had come. A couple of teachers had taken the morning off of school and driven the 45 minutes to come and see me run. These were the people that cared for me. Supported me. I started to feel better. I couldn’t let them down. Slow and steady. I was a grinder.
I’m not sure when I got my second wind. All I know is by the time I hit ‘The Hill’ the second time I wasn’t tired at all. I sprinted up the last few steps and eased down the back slope passing runners one after another. As I turned the corner for the long backstretch I could only see three runners ahead of me. The closest was only fifty yards. Probably less. I couldn’t help myself and sped up when I saw the school colors of the closest. Two assholes from the rich school.
I caught them in under a minute. Neither spoke as I joined them, our ragged breath matched by the pounding of cleats. The better of the two dropped off soon after I arrived and I knew I had to break the other one’s will if I wanted to beat him. The finish line was approaching and I never outkicked anyone. I moved faster, surging forward, putting a couple of yards between us then eased back to a pace I knew I could actually maintain. He did the same, passing me by a few yards until I repeated the process.
We passed the original starting line on our left as we made a final turn and could see the leader crossing the finish line. It was two hundred yards away but I knew I had lost. This was where I always lost races. As I waited for the rich asshole to kick I decided to do another surge. When he only surged past me and slowed down I realized the truth.
‘He didn’t have a kick either!’
I passed him. He passed me. We both passed each other at least 3 times in that final stretch. I screamed about twenty yards from the finish as I did my best sprint and dove for the finish line. The rich kid landed on top of me, a half second behind.
We lay there for a couple of seconds until he choked out two words after he caught his breath, “Good race.”
I was too tired to come up with a pithy reply. “You too.”
I couldn’t move. My coach picked me up and literally carried me out of the way of the next runners. I fell to the ground once we cleared the area. Coach shoved one of those old hand-cranked stopwatches in my face. I looked up confused.
He said simply, “School record.”
I could hardly believe it. I’d come close to the record a few times but never beat it. It didn’t make sense. I’d eased back at quite a few spots during the race. A couple of places I wanted to quit. It didn’t feel that fast. It kind of felt like that basketball coach who told me I’d made the basket. I’m sure my dive into the finish line looked about as graceful.
When I caught my breath I asked, “How fast?”
“You beat it by two seconds.”
I looked for the asshole from the rich school. There’s no way I would have set the record without him pushing me but he was gone, lost in the crowd and I was too tired to find him and thank him.
*****
“I ran cross country against you.”
He tells me his school. I did my best not to smile when I realize it’s one of the assholes. I expect from his perspective it looked something between a smirk and a frown as the chip on my shoulder was still smarting from their beatdown a year earlier. We decide to sit next to each other because it’s natural to cling to anything that seems familiar on the first day of college.
The teacher’s assistant was passing out the syllabus when I asked. “Do you remember that race last year when you boxed me in?”
“Yeah. I was the one behind you to your left."
"Was that your coaches plan?"
"Nah. It's something we all just came up with during the race. We thought it would be funny.”
“Not to me.”
The other boy was still smiling so I couldn't help my response, “Do you remember districts?”
“Yeah.”
I added, “I got all of you that day.”
“My brother almost beat you. He finished third.”
I couldn’t help but laugh. His brother? We were both a couple hundred miles from home. It really is a small world.
“That was your brother?”
“Yeah. He’s a junior this year. He got the running genes in the family. I wasn't good enough to run at districts.”
I considered many things as I thought about my next words. I thought about the joke they’d played. I thought about how his brother helped me get the school record. I was sure nothing I could say would ever make sense. I decided to keep it simple.
“Tell him I said hi the next time you see him.”
“I’ll do that.”
We were study partners for that class all semester. Turns out he was a pretty nice guy. I’m sure most of them were. Like most things in life, it’s all a matter of perspective.
