Running Full Tilt

by Michael Currinder

  —

  Ladue was hosting its thirtieth annual invitational, with twenty-three schools from around the area competing. After the University City Invitational I’d gotten two more races under my belt—small meets with only a few schools. I’d won one and placed third in the other. Curtis continued to restrain himself and seemed content to push me to my maximum and boost my confidence. I didn’t understand his motives, but it was working for me.

  As Curtis and I began our warm-up, he gave me a quick summary of the competition. “You will have the privilege of competing against Mr. Nathan Fromm today, as well as the legendary Amos Newcombe.”

  “Why should I feel privileged?” I asked.

  “They’re two of the finest runners in the state,” he told me. “By far, they’re the favorites today. You’ll see.”

  I was a little more confident since my last few races. “What’s going to happen if I try to go with them?”

  “Don’t even try, Leo. Not yet.” He pointed them out to me as we jogged the first loop of the course. Fromm looked relaxed and confident. He was laughing with a couple of his teammates as they surveyed the course. Newcombe was a little more serious. He was alone behind the bleachers, in full sweats and doing a series of strange leg-lifting drills that looked like a cheerleading routine.

  I pressed Curtis. “When are you finally planning to show up and actually race, Curtis?”

  He laughed. “I’ll continue to keep my cards close, Leo. My goal is to stay under the radar as long as I can.”

  Our home course was basically a one-mile loop around the boundary of the campus, repeated three times with a few subtle variations. The course included a downhill on each loop and long stretches of tree line along the farthermost part of the campus. It wasn’t the most exciting course, because with the exception of the single hill it was basically flat as a pancake. But it was fast.

  As Curtis and I passed the tennis courts and school parking lot, I saw Dad getting out of his car.

  “Oh, crap,” I muttered. “My father is here.” Dad spotted us and waved, and we trotted over to greet him. I was nervous enough. The last thing I needed was to screw up in front of him.

  Dad was in good spirits. “How are you boys doing?”

  “Hey, Dad. What are you doing here?”

  My dad watched packs of runners jog by us, finishing their warm-up. “What the hell do you think I’m doing here?” he said, laughing. “I came to see what this running business is all about.” He turned and looked at Curtis. “Hello, Curtis. I almost didn’t recognize you without your bathing suit.”

  “Why hello, Mr. Coughlin.” Curtis’s eyes darted back and forth across Dad’s new hairline a few seconds, but he managed to exercise self-control and not engage. “Thanks for coming to the race.”

  “Wouldn’t miss it for the world. Where do I get a seat for this event?” Dad asked.

  “Most people don’t sit, Dad,” I explained. I pointed to the top of the course’s only hill. “If you go up there, you should be able to see us about six times during the race.”

  He checked his watch. “When does this thing get going?”

  “We’ll start in about twenty minutes,” I told him. “I’ve got to go warm up, Dad.”

  “All right, then,” he said, walking toward the hill. “I’m looking forward to this, Leo.” As I was jogging away, he called out, “Mom was supposed to be here, but she had to make a trip down to her parents’ to help your grandmother with something. She told me to wish you luck!”

  When Curtis and I began jogging again, I spotted Mary sitting on the hill with a few of her friends. She waved to us. Curtis acknowledged her, but I just buried my head. “What’s that all about?” he asked me.

  “I don’t understand why all these people are here.”

  “Christ, Leo, we should feel honored that these people are here. Cross-country isn’t exactly a spectator sport. Lighten up,” he told me. He pointed back at Mary and smiled. “Put on a show for the girl.”

  As we headed to the line for the start, I was shaking. My stomach felt empty and my legs light and weak. When the gun fired, I blasted off the line toward the opening in the tree line where we’d make our first turn. By the time we reached the hill, I was ten meters in front of the pack. It wasn’t exactly my plan, but it was now the situation.

  I could hear my father screaming above the cheers, “That’s my Leo!” I’d never heard him so animated. His scream gave me another jolt of adrenaline. By the time I reached the downhill, Fromm and Newcombe had pulled beside me. They were barely breathing.

  Fromm looked over at me with a shit-eating grin. “Do you know what you’re doing, kid?”

  We were flying, and I felt great. We rounded the front of the school, followed the tree line toward the tennis courts, and threaded our way through the narrow dirt trail inside a small wood separating the baseball and soccer fields. As we exited the trail and headed up the only hill, I saw Mary and heard my father screaming again. I extended my lead by five meters as we made our way toward the tree line bordering the soccer fields and the end of the first loop.

  Heading into the second loop, Fromm made a move and began pressing the pace. Newcombe went with him, and I tucked behind. I decided I’d try and hang with them until the final loop, then see if I could just barely hold on.

  We passed the crowd again and I heard Dad hollering at the top of his lungs as we attacked the downhill. My legs and arms were turning like flywheels just trying to maintain my balance. I had no problem hanging with Fromm and Newcombe on the hill, but when we hit the flat, I felt like they’d turned up the momentum another notch. By the time we hit that dirt trail again, my breathing was labored, my shoulders felt tight, and my legs were heavy. I felt like I was dying.

  I ran beside Fromm and Newcombe as we hit the tree line once more, in full view of the spectators, but as we began the third and final loop, I started to fade, and they opened up a thirty-meter gap on me in what felt like a flash. I managed to pull myself together as I passed the crowd, and my father’s voice once more gave me a brief boost. I was hoping that the long downhill might provide an opportunity for me to recover, but by the time I’d made my descent I was done. My legs refused to lift and I was gasping for air. One runner passed by me, then another, and then Curtis, who gave me a tap on my shoulder. “Hang in there, buddy,” he encouraged me. “Just focus on finishing.”

  I wanted to quit right then and there.

  A steady stream of runners soon flew by me, including a few guys from the team.

  “Something is definitely wrong if I’m passing you,” Rosenthal said, patting me lightly on my shoulder as he charged by me.

  At least forty more runners overtook me, including Stuper and Burpee, who offered similar words of encouragement. The final loop was an eternity of pain and suffering, and I eventually stumbled through the finish chute in fifty-sixth place. I staggered away from the crowd bent over, hands on knees, before collapsing beneath a tree.

  Curtis urged me to sit up and get some air into my lungs. “I can’t breathe,” I gasped.

  “You’re going to be fine,” he assured me.

  Just when I thought it couldn’t get any worse, I saw Mary rushing toward us, carrying a bottle of water. Thankfully, Curtis held up his hand and gently brought her to a halt. I closed my eyes and wished the earth would open up and swallow me. I looked pitiful.

  “Is he all right?” she asked.

  “I think he’s just experiencing a little oxygen debt,” he told her. “He’s going to feel like crap for a few minutes, but it will go away.”

  “Is there anything I can do to help?”

  “Just give him a little space, Mary,” he urged her. “He’s going to be fine.”

  I opened my eyes partly and gave her a pathetic thumbs-up. She understood and backed away.

  Dad found me a few minutes later. “How are you doing, Leo?” He looked concerned.

  I was still having a hard time breathing, and struggled with my words
. He jogged over to the scoring table and returned with a white paper bag. “Breathe into this,” he encouraged me. “I think you’re hyperventilating.”

  I crumpled the bag and tossed it. “I’m fine, Dad,” I told him. My breathing steadied, and I began to relax. “I just had a really crappy race, that’s all.”

  “I’ll drive you home,” he offered.

  “I’ve got to cool down and stick around for the awards ceremony,” I told him. “I thought you had to get back to work.”

  “That’s okay,” he said. “I’ll hang out. Just let me know when you’re ready to go.”

  I eventually got up and had just plodded a few steps into my cooldown when I heard Gorsky’s gruff voice. “Leo! Come over here.”

  I jogged over to him. “You don’t have to say it,” I told him. “I know I blew it.”

  “Leo, how many races have you run in your life?”

  “If you want to include today’s catastrophe, the grand total is four.”

  Gorsky laughed, gripped me by the shoulders, lifted my chin, and made me look him in the eyes. “You gained some very valuable race experience today, son,” he said to me. “You learn something new with each race. You learn what you need to do next in your training, and you learn what you need to do in your next race.” Gorsky was quiet for a moment, giving me the opportunity to think about his words. “So what did you learn today?”

  “I learned that I need to get a hell of a lot stronger,” I told him. “And I learned I shouldn’t be a jackass and take off like a bat out of hell when the gun goes off.”

  He laughed. “Your words, not mine,” he said. “It will come, Leo, I promise you, but it’s going to take a little time. As much as you want to forget about this race, think about what you can learn from it to make yourself a better runner.”

  I nodded.

  “I like what you did today, Leo. You showed some guts,” he continued. “You just need to learn how to harness that energy.”

  He gave me a little shove. “Remember, son, our training was not intended to prepare us for today. We are preparing for the more important meets at the end of the season. Now get a good cooldown with Curtis. And ask that clown when he plans on finally showing up to race.”

  The drive home with Dad was mostly silent, but as we turned into the driveway he spoke. “How are you doing?”

  “What do you mean, how am I doing? That was perhaps the most humiliating experience of my entire life,” I told him.

  Dad pulled into the garage and turned off the ignition, and we sat in silence for a long moment, just the ticks of the engine cooling down. Then Dad finally spoke. “You went for it, Leo,” he said to me. “I know it didn’t work out the way you wanted it to, but you went for it.” He opened his door and looked over at me. “And when you were out there in the lead, I thought it was one of the most amazing things I’ve ever seen in my life, son. I was very proud of you.” He closed the door and left me alone inside the car with his words.

  —

  I opened my gym bag, pulled out my sweaty singlet, and tossed it into the laundry basket. Inside, on top of my spikes, I saw the note, an ink-and-watercolor drawing of a lone runner against a bright-orange setting sun.

  It’s your turn.

  – M

  Outside the kitchen window I saw Caleb in the front yard making grass piles. He was bouncing around on his toes. He was in a good mood at the moment, but I wasn’t sure which direction he was heading.

  Counting the day’s race, I’d embarrassed myself twice in front of this girl. I looked at her note once more, and I figured it was time to try and get over myself. So I picked up the phone and called her.

  18.

  I PLOPPED DOWN ON THE SOFA and watched House with Dad until Mary arrived.

  “So is this a date?” he asked.

  “Not sure,” I mumbled.

  “Is she the blonde who was hovering around you guys after the race?”

  “Yeah,” I answered, keeping my eyes glued to the tube and trying to avoid the awkward topic with my father. “How did you know?”

  He took a sip from his glass of wine and raised a toast to me. “Not bad, Leo.”

  “Kind of creepy, Dad.”

  Mom drove down to the country earlier in the day to my grandparents’ farm. According to Dad, Grandma was having some odd side effects from her high-blood-pressure medications. Dad was taking full advantage of Mom’s absence by parking himself in front of the television for the night and knocking down a bottle of red wine.

  The doorbell rang just as I was beginning to question whether I should have followed through with calling her. Suddenly I got that woozy feeling, kind of like I felt before a race.

  Caleb was certainly going to be unavoidable, so I threw caution to the wind. I stayed put on the couch and let Caleb answer the door. It would need to happen sooner or later. I prayed that the situation would play itself out harmlessly, and Mary and I would soon be on our way.

  Our den was close to the front hallway, so when Caleb opened the door to greet her, I could hear his interrogation crystal clear. I imagined him blocking the entry with arms crossed like a prison guard.

  “WHAT NAME!” he barked.

  I knew Caleb’s routine, but it still made me cringe. I didn’t hear her response, but there was a brief pause before Caleb spoke again. “Mary like granola,” he stated. The inquisition was now under way, but he had already calmed.

  “Mary drive blue Volkswagen Golf,” he said.

  “Yes, I—” Mary answered.

  “Mary mother drive black Honda Accord,” he interrupted.

  “That’s true. She also—” she began.

  “Mary born August 14.”

  “Mary like Dr Pepper.”

  Eventually I heard her footsteps. Caleb had decided to let her in the house, but not before providing her with one additional piece of juicy information.

  “Mary,” he suddenly said in a raised whisper, “last night, who poke Leo’s eyes out in the middle of night?”

  “I’m here!” I announced loudly, hoping to squelch Caleb’s confessions. Caleb had a habit of divulging his deepest, darkest sins to acquaintances and strangers. The woman who cut his hair at Supercuts, the cashier at the supermarket, the pharmacist at Walgreens, the people he might see and chat with for a few minutes once a week. Caleb would say hello, ask them how they were doing, then lean in close and whisper his guilt. When they’d recoil, that’s when I would have to step in and do damage control.

  Mary was wearing jeans and a Shins T-shirt with a red-and-black checkerboard flannel shirt layered on top. Our eyes met, and she killed me once more with her smile.

  Caleb abandoned us in the hallway and returned to the kitchen sink to wash dishes.

  “I assume that’s Caleb.”

  I turned to Caleb. “Caleb, why don’t you introduce yourself to Mary?”

  He slammed a few plates into the dishwasher and yelled, “CALEB! CALEB COUGHLIN! RIGHT! NICE TO MEET YOU! RIGHT!”

  I turned to Mary and nodded. “So now you’ve met my brother.”

  “His memory is impressive,” she said, smiling some more.

  “You faced the inquisition and you survived,” I said. “That’s a pretty impressive debut, I might add.”

  “And have I earned the privilege of meeting your parents as well?” she whispered.

  Dad shouted from the den over the television set. “Caleb! Could you bring me the bottle of wine?”

  I grabbed my coat from my chair and made a move to the front door. “Let’s save that for another time,” I said to her, and I guided her out the door and toward her car. I glanced over my shoulder at the kitchen window and saw Caleb jumping up and down in front of the sink, a fist pushed into his mouth. Something obviously had set him off and I was going to be in for it tonight if I wasn’t on my toes.

  Mary flipped on the stereo as we pulled out of the driveway and Pink Floyd’s Dark Side of the Moon filled the space. I started to relax. I had asked her if she wante
d to see a movie when we’d talked on the phone, but only under the condition that she decide what we’d see, and that we didn’t talk about my epic failure that afternoon.

  “So where to?”

  “Have you seen Corpse Bride?” she asked.

  “Nope.” I’d seen the sneak preview, and a brief glimpse of the bug-eyed characters was enough for me. I was more in the mood to watch something with gunfire, explosions, and high-speed chases, but I kept my preferences to myself.

  “You haven’t?” she asked incredulously. “It’s amazing! ‘A tale of wit, charm, and strife,’ ” she recited from the trailer. “I’m taking you.”

  “Really? But you’ve already seen it,” I reminded her, hoping she might consider an alternative.

  “Three times,” she said enthusiastically. “Tim Burton is brilliant, and I want to talk to you about it. Besides, I’ll have no problem watching Johnny Depp again.”

  “I thought it was a cartoon.”

  “For your information, it’s an animated film,” she said, laughing. “Not a cartoon.”

  I was tempted to suggest Jarhead or Flight Plan, but I figured I’d better keep my mouth shut. It occurred to me that the movie was just an excuse to sit next to her. “Corpse Bride sounds awesome,” I lied. “As long as you’re not one of those people who talk through movies and tell everything that’s going to happen before it really does. My mom’s all over that.”

  “No worries. If you open your mouth during the movie, I’ll probably smack you.”

  “Thanks for the warning.”

  We headed across town to the Esquire, this cineplex that plays artsy retro stuff. October’s new moon and the early-evening darkness cast a thick blanket over the day. Through the thin cracks of the car’s open windows, the cool night air amplified the music. As we sat at the stoplight at Hanley and Clayton, the streetlights illuminated our faces and she shifted the conversation. “He doesn’t look like I thought he would.”

  “Who?”

  “Caleb,” she answered, her eyes focused on the taillights of the SUV in front of us.