Running for Fun #9

I watched from a birds’ eye view as my legs glided past each other over and over again. I had been doing this for about ten minutes. I was bored out of my mind.

“I hate this,” I muttered angrily to myself.

As I muttered, I imagined sprinting up and down a sleek wood floor organizing strategies to help my team. That was the only physical endurance I enjoyed.

“Good job out there, kid!” my Physical Education teacher bellowed as he patted my back.

“Thanks,” I muttered under my breath.

“You know,” he began, “we are really needing some good prospects for Cross Country next year. You could really help our chances with the team.”

“That sounds great,” I lied, “but I think I’m set on basketball.”

“You shouldn’t be so sure!” he exclaimed, “No one comes close to you during our races. I think running suites you better.”

I took that last comment as an insult. The only way anyone could make me run was to jeopardize my grade point average. I was so glad that the next four years would be different. I daydreamed of belonging to an elite club of starters for the Laguna Beach Breakers. Girls would chant my name and make posters of me. For all I knew, that’s what High School was all about.

“I think I’m a couple inches taller!” I yelled at my dad from the garage.

“It’s been two months since graduation,” he responded with a chuckle, “I think that would be a world record.”

“Maybe if take a deep breath when Coach Flemming looks at me he’ll think I’m taller,” I replied.

I didn’t believe what I was saying, but I said it anyway. Mr. Flemming had been coaching the Breakers for about one hundred years. I tried to think of anything that could make me look better. Tomorrow I would have my only chance to make a first impression. I had my clothes all laid out in my bedroom. I even had my mom buy two different colored Gatorades, just in case one color didn’t give me enough electrolytes. I was sure all those hours of practice would pay off, but you could never be to careful.

“Remember to be careful with you arm,” my Dad recalled, “the doctor told you to take it easy.”

Hey! Stop worrying about that!” I replied, perhaps a little louder then I wanted, “He said I was probably fine.”

“I hope nothing is wrong, I just don’t want anything to happen between now and your appointment tomorrow. They should have the results by then.”

My hands started to shake when he said that. The thought of not being able to swish that bright orange ball through a red circle was devastating. If worse came to worse, playing between now and Sophomore year was out of the question. The possibility weighed on my shoulders like a ton of bricks. ‘What would I do?’ I tried to push all of those negative thoughts out of my head. I had known that the possibility of surgery was likely for a while. I had been having trouble with my arm in recent months. Every time I shot the basketball my elbow felt and sounded like a nut cracker crushing a walnut. The doctor had told me that bits of bone were trapped in my elbow joint. Sometimes those bits of bone would lock up my elbow and I would have restricted movement. My stupid elbow wasn’t just ruining my basketball shot, it could possibly ruin my dreams. The surgeon would tell me the next day whether I would need an operation.

I was lost in thought as I sank deep into the soft couch. The lights were low and I had tears brimming on my eyelids. I fought them because I was a man. As I wallowed in my misery, my father sat next to me. He seemed to not sink as deep as me on the couch. "What are you thinking about?" He asked, knowing the answer before I said anything. I chose not to respond. "Things don't always work out like you want. You should start think of options. You aren't just confined to one thing." He said. I let my Father have a conversation with himself, I wasn't ready to come out of my self-imposed prison yet. Yesterday the doctor had told me that I would need surgery on my elbow. He then mentioned that I would be unable to play basketball for a year. He might as well have told me to put a gun to my head and pull the trigger. "You've always been a good runner," he chirped, "why don't you give that a try?" I had to chuckle a bit. It was true that I had always been a talented runner. I always pushed myself more then anyone else. But then again, no one in middle school really puts forth an effort in Physical Education. As repulsive as the idea sounded, I had no other choice. I took a deep breath before responding.

"I'll give it a shot," I whispered. The deep breath I took seemed to make me rise from the depths of our couch.

“Let’s get going then!” my Dad chirped, “The Asics store closes in in one hour.”

We got in the car and headed over to the store. My Father was more excited than I was. I watched all the trees and houses pass by as our car glided down the street. It was getting dark but I could still see the silhouettes of people walking their dogs. As we made our way through town. I spotted a group of lean looking young men a women moving a lot faster than the rest of the crowd. They wore colorful shoes and shirts with the Laguna Beach high school logo. They seemed to breath and move in sync with one another. The colors of the setting sun made them look beautiful. I felt like I was watching a slow motion sketchers ad. My heart sped up like it did when I drained a three pointer at the buzzer. For a brief moment, I entertained the thought of speeding down some scenic trail kicking up dust and feeling the blood pump through all the veins of my body.

“Are you coming?” I heard my Fathers voice ask.

I realized that I had daydreamed most of the car ride. I looked up and saw the bright Asics sign. The neon colors looked so inviting.

“Yes,” I said confidently, “yes I am.”