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Jake let out a long, slow sigh. He hoped that meant the practice would be easy on everyone.

“What about you, Jake?” asked Dave. “Good weekend?”

“Oh.” Jake smiled, then shrugged. “Not bad.” He didn't want to say he'd been running, and he couldn't think of anything else.

Dave nodded. “Okay, gents, today we're going to talk a little bit about something called bonking.”

Shawn pretended to cuff Paul on the side of the head. “Bonk.”

Tony slid his shoulder into Sam's on one side, then into Jake's on the other. “Bonk.”

Dave laughed. “Not that kind of bonking. What I'm referring to is that feeling of hitting a wall in your race. You can get to a point when you feel you just can't go any further. Your brain tells your legs to quit. Or your legs tell your brain,
That's it, we're done.
” The boys nodded. They knew how that felt.

“Now, some of this is physical,” continued Dave. “It has to do with diet, especially with what you ate in the days and the hours before the race. And also if you've had enough to drink and just what it was you filled your tank up with. You guys know all about this, but sometimes you still have to remind yourselves to do it, to choose the right stuff and to get enough of it at the right time.”

Jake considered telling them about the pickle juice but decided he'd keep that to himself for now.

“A big part of bonking is also mental. Picture one of Shawn's video games. Sometimes it seems your character is stuck in whatever world he's in, but if you explore the walls a little, you'll come across a little door to escape through. The same thing happens in running. When you feel you've hit a wall, look for that little door. Don't quit. Tell yourself it's there, and you'll probably find it. You boys understand what I'm talking about?”

“Sure, Dave.” They nodded.

“Okay then.”

They got up from the picnic table and did some stretching. “We're going to start with a light run today,” said Dave, clapping Paul lightly on the shoulder. “Follow the paths through twice.” Everyone started to jog away. Jake made sure his shoes were tied tightly enough.

“Jake?”

“Yeah?”

“I don't want you to overdo it today. I know you've got the city run tomorrow.”

Jake nodded.

“How's that going?”

“Pretty good.”

“Ankle okay?”

“Sure. Just a little tender.”

Dave's eyebrows went up a little. “Let's see.”

Jake loosened the laces again.

“Still a fair bit of swelling,” said Dave. “I thought it would be okay after you rested it for the weekend. Hmm. You must have hurt it worse than I thought. Okay. Well, go home then.”

“What?” Jake looked up. “It's fine, Dave. I can run. It's fine.”

“No, go. You want to be your best for tomorrow, don't you?”

“Yes, but…”

“Then go home, Jake. Put the ankle on ice. Keep it up. Watch a movie or read a book about running if you want to, but don't do any.”

“But…”

Dave put a hand on his shoulder. “But nothing. You need to listen to what your body is telling you. Go home and rest. Don't worry. A day off won't hurt your race any.”

“It won't?”

“No, but a bum ankle will.”

By seven thirty that evening, Jake had had enough of hanging around the house. He needed to go for a run. Just a short one. He changed into some running gear and was tying his shoes when the phone rang.

“Hello?”

“Jake?”

“Yes.”

“Dave Driscoll.”

“Hi, Dave.”

“Just checking that you're staying off that foot.”

“Absolutely. Just sitting here watching
Chariots of Fire.
”

“Great.”

How did he do that?

Jake's mom came through the kitchen. “
Chariots of Fire
? I love that movie. Mind if I watch it with you, Jake?”

Twenty minutes into it, his dad came in too. Then Luke. Halfway through, they paused the disc and made popcorn. They hadn't had a movie night in ages.

“I just love that story,” Jake's mom said with a sigh when it was over. She stood up to put the popcorn bowl and glasses on a tray. “And the music.” Jake's dad was snoring in one of the La-Z-Boys. Luke was asleep and snoring too, sprawled over one end of the couch. “Not that kind of music,” she said as she threw a cushion at each of them. “Rise and shine, fellas!”

“That reminds me,” she said. “Jake, I got an email today from Mrs. Bradley. She says she's caught you sleeping in class a couple of times in the last few weeks. She wonders if you're getting enough sleep or if there's something bothering you that's keeping you awake at night.”

“I get lots of sleep,” protested Jake. “I make sure I get lots of sleep.”

“I know you do.”

Jake's dad stood up and stretched. “I know he does too. Cut out of the hockey game the other night before the second period was over to make sure he got to bed on time! He shoots, he snores!”

“Maybe it's those early-morning runs. Maybe you're running too much. If it's affecting your schoolwork…”

“Mom, it was probably during math class. Sam's the mathamagician, not me.”

“Who's Sam?”

“My fr—” He stopped. “This guy I know from the running club. And maybe it happened once in grammar. I don't mean to. Nouns and pronouns are just not that exciting, you know.”

Luke looked up groggily. “It's unavoidable,” he agreed. “It's the number slumber.”

“The comma coma,” said Jake.

Luke nodded. “I've been known to catch a few z's in class myself.”

Everyone laughed.

Chapter Fourteen

It was the last of the city league's regular Tuesday runs. Jake looked up and down the starting line, but there were no green spikes. Spencer wasn't there. Jake saw a flash of red and guessed Simon was in the crowd. He didn't go talk to him. He needed to focus. He would find Simon later.

Jake was ready. He'd had a snack. He'd had a drink. He'd done lots of stretching. After resting the ankle last night, he had to admit it felt a lot better. This was it. He felt good. He took a few deep breaths and took his spot at the line. As he did, he felt a weight settle onto his shoulders. Stay loose, he thought. Shake it off. But he couldn't. He took off right at the gun. He got out front early. He ducked the low-hanging branches in the woods. He tuned out the dull ache in his head, the burning in his lungs and the twisting in his stomach. He tuned out the shouts of the fans along the course. He tuned out everything and just ran without thinking, without feeling, one step in front of the other. Through the trees. Along the creek. One foot in front of the other, until he heard the crunch of his spikes on the gravel just before the bridge. Up the hill. Across the finish line. He was all alone. He had won, but without Spencer in the pack, it still felt like second.

Jake didn't wait for the results to be posted. He didn't go look for Simon either. He just didn't feel like waiting today. He pulled a sweatshirt over his head and was unlocking his bike when he heard someone call his name. “Hey, Jake!” He turned. It was Dave. “Great run!”

Jake stood and shook the hand Dave was offering. “Uh, thanks. Recruiting again?”

Dave smiled and clapped Jake on the shoulder. “No. I can do that over the phone. I came to see you.”

“Me? Do you need to tell me something about Saturday? I'll be at practice tomorrow.”

He shook his head. “No. I came to see you run. The rest of the guys are here too, somewhere.” He looked back at the woods. No one. He looked back at Jake. “You okay?”

“Sure, I guess. Just tired.”

“Ankle must feel better.”

“Yeah. It's good.”

“That's great.”

“Yeah.”

“Jake?”

“Yeah?”

“You don't look like the guy who just won the race.”

Jake shrugged.

“No big grin? No happy dance?”

Jake shrugged again. Dave waited. “There's another guy who's faster than me. Spencer Solomon. He wasn't here today. He probably would have won.”

“Spencer, huh.” Dave watched him a minute and then asked, “Jake, do you like running?”

“Yeah, I love running.”

“Yeah?”

“Or at least I used to, until…”

“Until what?”

“Nothing.”

“Until what?”

Jake shrugged.

Dave waited. “Just throw it out there and we'll see where it lands.”

“Until…” Jake looked up at Dave and took a deep breath. “Until I started winning.”

“Ah.” They were both quiet for a moment. “And why is that?”

“I don't know. It wasn't fun anymore after that. I used to just run everywhere because…because—I don't know. Because it was the fastest way to get places, I guess. When I got to my new school a couple years ago, I found out it had a cross-country team. I asked if I could join, and my mom said it sounded like a great thing for me to do. I used to just grab a chocolate bar and make sure my shoes were tied and get out there and run. Then I started to win. Instead of just running, I was thinking about winning all the time. If I would win. What I had to do to win. I do a lot of training, and I watch what I eat and I read all the latest running news. It takes up all my time.”

“You do all the right things. But are you doing them for the right reasons?”

Jake shrugged. “Isn't winning a good reason?”

Dave smiled. “Do you feel good running?”

Jake looked up.

Dave tried to explain. “Besides the tough workout it gives you. Do you feel good when you're out there on the course, breathing in, breathing out, watching the world go by?”

“No. I always feel like I have knots in my stomach, and my head hurts.”

“And when you're done?”

“I feel…I don't know, heavy.”

“Hmm. What did you wear when you ran today?”

Jake looked puzzled. Dave had seen him run. “Just the T-shirt and shorts.”

“It's a little nippy out today. No long pants? No winter coat?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

Jake didn't answer. All that stuff would be too heavy and wouldn't let him move. Dave knew this.

“What's the solution?” asked Dave after a pause.

“I don't know. I don't think there is one.”

“Running isn't fun anymore and you feel lousy before, during and after the race, even when you win.”

“Yeah, that about sums it up.”

“So stop.”

Jake was surprised. “Stop?”

“Yeah. Stop.”

“Stop running?”

“No.”

“Stop winning?”

Dave laughed. “No.”

“What then?”

“Stop running to win.”

Jake looked confused. “I don't understand.”

“Run to run, Jake. Run the best way you can. Winning will take care of itself.”

At that moment Shawn, Sam, Tony and Paul came tumbling out of the woods, all holding snow cones.

“Snow cones?” Dave grinned and shook his head. “You guys are crazy. It's penguin weather out here. What you need is some hot chocolate.”

“But snow cones are the best!” answered Tony. “Sorry we took so long. Paul couldn't decide if he wanted blue raspberry or lemon-lime!”

“Great run, Jake,” said Sam. They all clapped him on the back.

“Hey, guys. I didn't expect to see you here.”

“Here's your snow cone, man. Everybody knows blue raspberry is the way to go,” said Shawn, rolling his eyes at Paul's lemon-lime cone.

“You didn't have to do that.”

“What do you mean? We wouldn't leave you out. You're one of us! We're a team.”

Jake wasn't sure how snow cones fit into his diet. He tried his. It sure tasted good. Cold and sharp. It cut right through the lingering taste of pickles. As he leaned against the bike rack, shivering happily with the other guys and their snow cones, Jake thought he saw a familiar green Jetta turn out of the lot. Then again, a lot of people probably drove green Jettas.