Seconds (7 page)

Chapter Fifteen

Jake thought a lot about what Dave had said.
Run to run. Winning will take care of itself.
He had won the last race, hadn't he? Why not enjoy it? He couldn't shake what Simon had said either.
Love what you love
. He did love running. Or he used to. There had to be a way he could get that back.

The team had done a serious practice on Wind Sprint Wednesday. Jake had logged two long runs on Thursday. Now it was Friday, and Dave had told them to take the night off. Jake wasn't used to that yet. It didn't seem right to him. But Dave had said he didn't want to risk anyone getting hurt the day before the regional run, especially since Torpedo Dog could be lurking anywhere. That made sense. Still, Jake felt like running. He'd go easy. It would be for fun. He wasn't going to worry about anything. Not his time. Not the distance. Not the run tomorrow. Not the championship run on Tuesday. Not Spencer.
Especially
not Spencer.

He changed into some running gear, and on his way downstairs he saw Luke in his room. Jake paused, then knocked on the half-open door. “Hey, Luke. You want to come for a run with me?”

Luke pulled aside his headphones. “Say what, little bro?”

“I was wondering if you want to come for a run with me.”

Luke grinned. “Me?”

“Yeah.”

“Run?”

“Yeah.”

“Are you nuts?”

Jake laughed. “Okay then.” He turned to go downstairs but then returned to the half-open door. “Hey, you've got all your stuff back up here now.”

“Yep.”

“How come I don't hear you playing?”

“Dad bought these heavy-duty headphones. Now I can play without anyone else hearing it.”

“Dad got you headphones?”

“I'm using them, yes, but I think he actually got them for you.”

“Oh.”

Jake made his way to the back door and put on his shoes. His mother was in the kitchen making tea. “Mom?” He cleared his throat. “Do you know if Dad's been coming out to the Tuesday runs?”

“Tuesday runs?” She tried to pretend she didn't know what he was talking about.

“Mom?”

She put down the teapot and leaned against the counter. “Yes, Jake. He's been going to the Tuesday runs.”

“How come he never said anything?”

“He didn't want to—what was the word?—distract you.”

“Oh.”

The door to Jake's dad's workshop behind the garage was half open too. His dad was whistling as he sanded something.

“Dad?”

“Jake-O.”

“Luke showed me his headphones.”

“Uh-huh.”

“They seem to work well.”

“Yep.”

“Dad?”

“Yes?”

“Nothing, I guess.”

“You going for a run again, Jake? Be careful.”

Jake nodded. “Do you, ah, want to come with me?”

His dad looked up. He looked alarmed.

Jake laughed. “Never mind.”

It was definitely frosty outside, but for some reason Jake felt warm inside. He zipped up his jacket, tugged on his winter hat and started out at a leisurely pace, trying to take in all the scenery. Most of the trees had lost all their leaves. There were still piles of them here and there, and they gave off a heavy smell. Jake heard laughter and shouting. Kids were playing road hockey. The streetlights glowed and soft yellow light warmed the windows all along the street.

After fifteen minutes, Jake decided he'd gone far enough. He jogged back home, passing the new restaurant on the corner. Sl'ice. A big banner was plastered across the front.
Now Open
. Jake stopped and looked in. Bright chrome countertops. Pizza offered on one side.

Ice cream on the other. Cheery red-checkered tablecloths. Maybe he'd tell his family they should come and try it. It was busy. Jake noticed a family just finishing their dinner. It looked like they were having a nice time together. Mom, Dad, sister, brother. They all laughed at something the father said, then stood to pull on their jackets. Yes, thought Jake. He would ask his parents if they could come for dinner one night. It should be okay to bend the food rules one time. It would be fun to have a night out with his family. Jake smiled and stepped out of the way as the family left the restaurant. When the young boy passed him, though, Jake's warm feeling drained away. It was Spencer.

So, Spencer Solomon was back in action. Would he be at the championship run on Tuesday? Jake was sure he would be. He would have to be ready. Jake had planned to go in, but instead he ran right past his house. He picked up the pace and clocked another few kilometers. This was no time for fooling around.

Chapter Sixteen

Saturday was cold but clear. When the team had assembled at Cedar Grove, Dave handed out new warm-up suits from their sponsor. Slick. They were black, with the Diamond logo in blue and silver on the back of the jacket. They were perfect for a day like this one. The race was at 1:00 PM. It was an hour's ride away. They left at ten. Dave drove them up in his van. They talked about the weather, school, movies. Shawn, sitting up front with Dave, seemed to be explaining the highlights of every video game ever made. Paul and Tony started a game of Would You Rather.

“Would you rather be a penguin or a giraffe?”

“Would you rather live at the North Pole or at the equator?”

“Would you rather get caught in a sandstorm or fall in quicksand?”

“Would you rather eat a cheeseburger with chocolate sauce on it or a pancake soaked in pickle juice?”

“Oh, man, does anyone else smell pickles?” asked Tony. “I'm hungry.”

Paul laughed. “You're always hungry.” He asked the next question. “Would you rather do a thousand math questions or be thrown in a den of lions?”

“Lions,” answered Tony with a grin, punching Sam lightly on the arm.

“Would you rather get attacked by a shark or gored by a warthog?”

What kind of a question was that? Jake would rather they stopped playing for a while. He was trying to focus, to prepare for the race, to get in the zone, but they just kept talking. And talking. And talking. All except Sam. He was working on a Sudoku.

“Ah, Dave?” piped up Jake when there was a lull in the gaming conversation.

“Yessir?”

“Isn't there anything we should be doing now to prepare for the race?”

“No. Just relax, I guess.”

“Well, do we know who the main competition is?”

Dave's eyes flicked to the rearview mirror to scan the back of the van. “It's a big race,” he commented, “but I don't want you guys to worry about that. I just want you to do your best. There will be a lot of runners, but they aren't the enemy. They're just other guys out there doing their best.”

The park in Deep Rapids was a busy place. Convenors and course monitors were giving and getting instructions. Coaches were reading clipboards or chatting. Groups of runners were walking and stretching. Parents were warming up with coffee and hot chocolate. The yellow caution tape marking parts of the course flapped in the stiff breeze, and the bright-orange pylons indicating turns flashed in the sun.

The boys went with Dave to register and pick up their numbers. Dave had brought along a small tent to keep their gear in, and they pitched it under a huge tree. Dave led them through a long set of stretches, and they had a light snack. Then they did a walk-through of the course together.

“Pay attention, amigos,” said Dave. “We don't want anyone to get lost.”

“Just follow the guy in front of you,” joked Shawn.

“What if he's lost?” Dave laughed.

Jake took everything in. Every detail. He had every intention of being the one out front.

The starting line stretched across a large field next to a picnic shelter. They would run the length of the field and then follow a path around a huge pond where there were hundreds of ducks. It was going to be important to cross that field quickly so they wouldn't get caught in the bottleneck at the trailhead. After the pond, the trail wound through the woods. It was narrow there. It would be hard to pass anyone on that stretch. Then it opened out along the lakeshore, where there was lots of space, but it was going to be tough running in the sand, and the wind was brutal out in the open. After a section of small hills back in the trees, runners would return to the field from the other end and run through a tape-marked trough up to the finish at the picnic shelter. “Remember,” said Dave. “You're not finished when you reach the tape. Don't stop pumping until you cross the line.”

Dave had them warm up with a few short runs and some strides across the field. “Get a drink, guys,” he called, “and then come on in for a huddle.” It was twelve forty-five.

The Diamond team stood together in a circle, arms across each other's shoulders. Dave grinned. “Well, here we are. You boys have worked hard, and you are ready for this. You're ready here.” He pointed to his feet. “And here.” He tapped his temple. “And here.” He put one hand over his heart. “You can do this. Run hard. Run smart. It's a team event. You're a great team. Do your best! I'm proud of you.”

Jake wondered how Dave could be proud of them when they hadn't even run yet. He intended to earn that pride. Just wait until he showed Dave what he could do.

Paul led a loud cheer. “Let's kick up some Diamond Dust!”

Dave shook his head and laughed.

They peeled off their warm-up suits, dropped them in the tent and made their way to the starting line. It sure was chilly. There was a solid wall of runners, two hundred at least, in all different colors of jerseys. Red. Blue. Orange. Yellow. Green. Purple. White. Black. And silver. Dave had the boys line up one behind the other from the line. Sam. Jake. Paul. Shawn. Tony. Paul was jumping up and down. Shawn was doing some sort of deep breathing. Tony cracked his knuckles and looked for a place to throw out his gum. Dave wrapped it up in a receipt he found in his jacket pocket. Sam just stood, silent, waiting. Jake felt tense, but he tried to focus. Mental toughness, he said to himself. Be the toughest one out there.

A big man in a red jacket strode out into the field. “Welcome to the regional race,” he boomed through his megaphone. “It is 1:00 PM on my watch, and this is the event for twelve-year-old boys. You've all been through the course—and if you haven't, you'll get your chance shortly!” He chuckled. “I wish you well. Runners, please take your marks.”

Jake took a deep breath and moved in behind Sam.

“Get set.”

Focus. Focus
. A good start was key.

Bang
. The gun went off and the line surged ahead.

Sam sprinted across the field, and Jake made sure to stay right behind him. They moved with about twenty runners to the head of the pack and found a place on the path around the pond. Jake heard someone huffing and puffing beside him and looked over to find Paul grinning wildly as he passed him. Jake was tempted to sprint up to him, but it didn't feel right. It was too fast. If he ran that way now, he'd have nothing left later. Jake struggled to find a good rhythm. He tucked back in behind Sam and tried to steady himself. Flocks of ducks exploded into the air as the runners pounded around the first turn. There were six, maybe seven, runners ahead of Sam. The pond, the trees, the lake, the hills, chanted Jake to himself. The pond, the trees, the lake, the hills.

They had almost completed the loop around the water and were looking to head into the woods when Jake saw Sam veer right to pass. Jake followed. It was Paul. He wasn't grinning anymore and was running with one hand clenched hard to his side, like he had a cramp.

I knew it was too fast, thought Jake.

“Stay in it, Paul,” called Sam. “Go Diamond.”

That left six guys to pass.

The trees, the lake, the hills, the field, thought Jake, panting. The trees, the lake, the hills, the field.

“Looking great, guys!” a voice called out. Jake jumped. There was Dave, stepping out from among the trees alongside the trail. How did he get there? “There's a bit of a clearing up ahead, if you can use it.”

Breathe in, breathe out. In, out, in, out
. Arms pumping, legs beginning to burn.
Focus. Focus
. The trail did widen out a bit, as Dave had said, and Sam used the opportunity to pass the runner in front of him and slide back into position just before it narrowed again. Smooth, thought Jake. He had moved right with him. Five left out front.
Watch out for rocks, for roots, for low-hanging branches
.
In, out, in, out
. All the way through the woods.

They felt the temperature change as they charged out onto the beach. Angry waves pounded the shore, and the wind slapped at them and tore at the numbers pinned to their jerseys. The coarse sand churned under their feet.
The lake, the hills, the field, the trough. The lake, the hills, the field, the trough
. Jake's calf muscles screamed at him to pack it in. His shoulders hurt. His lungs ached. Bonk. Bonk. Where's that little door? he asked himself. Find that little door. He was breathing hard. Squinting against the wind and the sand made his head hurt. Then Dave stepped out from behind a huge rock. “That's it, fellas! How's this for wind sprints? Keep it up. More of the same. You've got this.” His hood was tied so tightly that his face was all scrunched up. Jake laughed out loud. Man, that looked funny. But Dave's voice was loud and clear, and Jake suddenly felt stronger.