The Miles (26 page)
Authors: Robert Lennon
THE LAST 385 YARDS
L
iam decided to get out of bed and go into the living room. The wind did not want to stop whistling around outside, and the branches of the gnarled cherry tree behind his building kept knocking into the bedroom window. It was four o'clock in the morning, and he tiptoed around the edge of the bed to avoid waking Didier. The alarm would not go off for another forty-five minutes, and Liam wanted time to himself in the apartment. He liked to perform his morning rituals alone.
iam decided to get out of bed and go into the living room. The wind did not want to stop whistling around outside, and the branches of the gnarled cherry tree behind his building kept knocking into the bedroom window. It was four o'clock in the morning, and he tiptoed around the edge of the bed to avoid waking Didier. The alarm would not go off for another forty-five minutes, and Liam wanted time to himself in the apartment. He liked to perform his morning rituals alone.
Walking from room to room in the narrow, floor-through apartment, Liam tried to relax his body and let his mind go blank. The linoleum in the kitchen stuck cold to his feet. He wondered why the apartment had such an oversized kitchen window; the frame around the glass started just a foot from the floor and ran straight up to the ceiling. Five and a half years in the building, and he had never before stopped to think about this peculiarity. His mind bobbled between other random thoughts as he tried not to think about the wind. The
whirr
outside sped to a howl, and the panes of glass in the kitchen window shook in place. Every single room in the neighboring building was pitch-black. What a perfect night to sleep, he thought. It was a night custom-made for burrowing under the comforter.
whirr
outside sped to a howl, and the panes of glass in the kitchen window shook in place. Every single room in the neighboring building was pitch-black. What a perfect night to sleep, he thought. It was a night custom-made for burrowing under the comforter.
Liam would check the Weather Channel to ease his mind. He turned the volume on the television as low as possible so that the noise would not wake Didier. After a series of commercials offering the successful removal of unwanted hair and an end to adult acne, a snippet of weather streamed across the screen. The gusts could reach thirty-five miles per hour by late morning. Liam thought about the Verrazano-Narrows Bridge and felt his stomach quake. He turned the television off and lay on the couch for a few minutes, staring out the window onto the blackness of the tenement across the way. He had lived just an arm's length from all these people for a large portion of his life and what did he know of them? The guy one floor down liked to cook shirtless in his boxers with a denim apron to guard against the mixing bowl spills and frying pan splashes. And once, Liam had guiltily watched the skinny stranger in the apartment at a forty-five-degree diagonal jerk off in an armchair. The wind whipped by again. Liam closed his eyes and visualized running easily, steadily, with a gentle wind at his back.
“We should get going in a minute or two.” The words traveled down like the faraway murmur of a train conductor's voice. Liam opened his eyes only to have the lids succumb again to their own weight.
“C'mon, sunny. We've got a race to run.” Liam felt Didier's still-warm-from-the-bed hands shaking him awake.
“What time is it?”
“It's five o'clock. We should catch the 6
A.M.
bus to be safe.”
A.M.
bus to be safe.”
“The wind ... Have you heard it? This is going to ruin everything we've worked for this year.”
“Liam, you're talking nonsense. Just get dressed and let's go. Everyone is going to be running the same marathon with the same sun and wind and temperature. That's the beauty of running; everyone faces the conditions equally. It's all about the given day. And who's tougherâ
you
or the Urban Bobcats.”
you
or the Urban Bobcats.”
“You mean
us
or the Urban Bobcats.” Liam realized he was in a mood to pick a fight. He felt groggy and superior.
us
or the Urban Bobcats.” Liam realized he was in a mood to pick a fight. He felt groggy and superior.
“No, I know that I am tougher than they are. I used to be them, remember. And I know you're tougher too. The question is, what do
you
know, Liam?”
you
know, Liam?”
“I promise to be ready to leave in ten minutes as long as you swear to put an immediate end to the pep talk.”
After some coffee and juice from the corner bodega leveled his blood sugar, Liam thanked Didier for being supportive and kissed him on the forehead in an attempt at détente. Now that he had Didier, Liam feared that he was going to take him for granted and mistreat him. He had done the same to his last three boyfriends, each relationship lasting three months, almost to the very day. Thus at this point in time, three months appeared to be the life span of any physical relationship for Liam. There was no gradual decay or petering out or period of bickering and evaluation, but rather a definitive end-point at the three-month mark. Ninety days proved to be a critical date for the expiration of product warranties and service guarantees and had an equal significance in the life cycle of a Liam Walker romance.
Had something formed or was it just sex?
Maybe three months functioned as the tipping point, the line in the sand where Liam had to classify a series of casual encounters or dates as something more vital for him to continue to find any meaning or derive any pleasure. Liam could not say for sure. His friends had always faulted him for residing too often inside the synapses of his own gray matter, wandering aimlessly through long corridors of thought and despair, mired in indulgent self-doubt and unproductive psychoanalysis. Liam yearned to be freeâor at least he thought he did. He decided suddenly to stop thinking now and jump in headlong. Why not savor these early moments in a romance when everything still seemed possible? There was such goodness, such grandness even, in Didier's leaving the Bobcats to join Fast Trackers. So many club members needed this day to be great for the team.
Had something formed or was it just sex?
Maybe three months functioned as the tipping point, the line in the sand where Liam had to classify a series of casual encounters or dates as something more vital for him to continue to find any meaning or derive any pleasure. Liam could not say for sure. His friends had always faulted him for residing too often inside the synapses of his own gray matter, wandering aimlessly through long corridors of thought and despair, mired in indulgent self-doubt and unproductive psychoanalysis. Liam yearned to be freeâor at least he thought he did. He decided suddenly to stop thinking now and jump in headlong. Why not savor these early moments in a romance when everything still seemed possible? There was such goodness, such grandness even, in Didier's leaving the Bobcats to join Fast Trackers. So many club members needed this day to be great for the team.
The traffic inched along the Verrazano-Narrows into Staten Island. It was all charter buses dropping eager runners off at Fort Wadsworth for the start of the marathon. Thirty-nine thousand runners had gained entry this year. That was the most exciting part, the idea of partaking in a massive demonstration of sorts. The stop-and-go of the bus had caused Liam's head to pound, and he looked out the window for distraction. The crisp blue blanket of water below the bridge had been upturned in flags of white and gray by the wind. The sails on some early morning recreational boats billowed out in accents of green and purple.
“Why don't we just get out and walk the 200 yards down to the staging area?” Liam asked. “I can see it from here.”
“No, they don't allow that. It would be bedlam if everyone ran from the buses at this point ... The driver will never open the door for you until we are completely over the bridge.”
“And then everyone is going to run for the Portosans at the same time.”
“I told you not to drink the whole cup of coffee,” Didier said with a smirk.
When the bus finally opened its doors, Liam ran out into the color-coded village looking for a bathroom. Because of the size of the event, the marathon organizers had split the race start into three different colorsâblue, orange, and greenâand all of the staging areas where racers waited before the start of the race were segregated by color. The runners would line up on the different levels and sides of the bridge based on the color of their start. Being part of the local elite, Liam had a slot at the very front of the green start, which was a wonderful thing except that the lines for the Portosans ran fifty to a hundred people long in the green start. Feeling the impossibility of the wait, Liam resorted to a racing trick he had picked up from a fellow club member. He walked over to the fence that outlined the edge of the field and kneeled down to tie his shoelaces. As he did that, he tucked his penis out of his running shorts and urinated on the grass. It was a completely brilliant technique, so long as no other runners got too close to you. Didier, who had been following at near distance, harrumphed when he saw the stream funneling through the grass where Liam knelt.
“It saved me time and pain,” Liam said.
“If even just one out of ten people here did that, it would be a modern-day Woodstock.”
“Don't be so dramatic.” Liam playfully patted Didier on the chest, and Didier retorted by tickling Liam under his armpits.
“So I see you've traded up.” The voice came from somewhere behind them. “Guess we never offered the whole rough play element ... just a nice running experience.”
The tall, lanky man who had just commented without looking at anyone specific, or seeming to direct his words at either Liam or Didier, jogged off and did not turn back.
“A bitter Bobcat?” asked Liam.
Didier nodded.
“Well, just fuck 'em.”
“Hey, if I could have, I would have ... but then I may never have joined Fast Trackers.”
“Look who's being bad today!” Liam slapped Didier on the ass, and the two jogged off together to the starting corral.
The marathon event staff had truly tipped its hat to the local elite runners, offering a spacious corral with its own set of bathrooms and room to jog while waiting for the officials to start the race. All the top teams in the city were there. Many unfamiliar faces too. Long, lean runners with knitting needles for legs trotted back and forth, speaking in foreign tongues. Gossip had trickled down over the past week that the more established and moneyed teams had flown runners in from Africa to compete on their behalf. There were no rules against such practices. Liam looked around to see who had Urban Bobcats singlets on.
“Are you guys ready to do some damage?”
Zane emerged from one of the Portosans and stretched his calves out while talking to Didier and Liam.
“The wind has Liam worried.” Didier rolled his eyes coyly at Liam as he spoke.
“The course goes in so many different directions, sweetie,” assured Zane. “The wind will have to be at your back for huge stretches. It can't keep switching directions just to mow you down!”
“I just want everything to go right. We need to beat the Bobcats.”
“Liam.” Zane took his friend's hand. “You can't
make
us beat the Bobcats. You can only run the best race that you can today. It's as simple as that. Make it the run of your life. Enjoy the hell out of it. But it makes no sense in the world to worry about it.”
make
us beat the Bobcats. You can only run the best race that you can today. It's as simple as that. Make it the run of your life. Enjoy the hell out of it. But it makes no sense in the world to worry about it.”
“I get it. Careful, though, I already warned Didier about inspirational musings.”
Liam knew he would be unable to ignore any yellow and black Bobcat uniforms in front of him, or coming up at his side, on the race course. But with 26.2 miles to travel, he would be in serious trouble if he sped up too soon on the enticement of another runner who may or may not have a smart racing strategy. Liam felt his head go dizzy and his stomach clench under the pressure. He was desperate for today to be a success. It wasn't that he believed Riser was out there in the universe looking down on the team, but Liam did have a spiritual need. He needed to believe in the power of togetherness, that the whole was greater than the sum of its parts.
The wind grew stronger, picking up the discarded wrappers from Clif Bars and energy gels that runners had tossed onto the lawn. A gust ripped open the roof of the big tent where trainers from Equinox gyms were encouraging anyone who would listen to stretch and stay loose before the start of the race. People panicked as the canvas tent toppled over. Announcements were made that runners should huddle together for warmth; the officials emphasized the importance of preserving core body heat before a run of this distance. Zane quickly gathered all the Fast Trackers who had arrived in the corral and distributed extra sweatshirts that he had brought with him because of the weather forecast. Almost all the marathoners in this huge series of Staten Island fields had layered themselves in the ugly, old garments that are usually earmarked for painting or gardening projects. That was the standing-around gear. Under it, most serious racers wore shorts with nettingâlighter and easier than having to wear cotton underwearâand a slit on the sides to facilitate movement, and a racing singlet made of a technical fiber that doesn't grow heavy with sweat. Once the gun went off, everyone would disrobe while crossing the Verrazano-Narrows. Serious racers were in as little clothing as possible by mile two of the race.
After the minor tent commotion, the distant hum of the national anthem signaled the start of the elite women's race. All of the men and all of the female recreational runners were told to use the bathrooms one final time and prepare to move from the staging area in the shadows of the bridge up toward the start of the race. In a quick survey of the corral, Liam could see Marvin, Gene, Zane, and Didier amid a sea of yellow and black. The Urban Bobcats looked long, lean, and hungry, and the Fast Trackers did not yet have its entire arsenal of fast runners on the line. Liam had seen Matthew and Ben milling around the complex earlier in the morning but worried that Ferdinand might have overslept or decided to bow out at the last minute. The top five runners from Fast Trackers needed to beat the Bobcats' second string runners, those placing sixth through tenth for their team. It did not matter if they had flown in a couple Kenyans to dazzle local spectators and further their image as the premier club in all of New York. But then, Liam thought, the usual Bobcat racers whom Fast Trackers did not have to compete with head-to-head would be pushed down from the top five to the top ten. His head swirled with the permutations, calculations, and the possibilities.
Oh well
. It was like Zane had said, the team would just produce the best that it could and not worry over what-ifs. But Liam had spent so much of his life mired in what-ifs. He had trouble keeping the bad thoughts at bay.
Oh well
. It was like Zane had said, the team would just produce the best that it could and not worry over what-ifs. But Liam had spent so much of his life mired in what-ifs. He had trouble keeping the bad thoughts at bay.
It was five minutes until the gun would go off. Marvin passed Liam an empty water bottle for him to piss in. Maybe it was nerves, but no matter how many times Liam used the restroom before a race, he always felt the urge to go once more at the starting line. He began to urinate discreetly into the bottle; the sensation was so freeing and so pleasurable that before he knew it the Evian water bottle overflowed with his piss. No one noticed as he dried his hands on his sweatshirt. For better or worse, he would throw the urine-filled bottle over the side of the bridge once the race started. Before final announcements were made, Liam wished Didier and Zane, who were both by his side, a good run, and he gave a thumbs-up to Marvin and Gene and scanned the crowd once more, noticing that Ferdinand had made his way to the start with Matthew and Ben.
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