Monday, being the first school day after our first victory, the anonymous and very much fmaligned track team became the toast of the school. The usual morning announcements droned on as I dozed, catching up on my rest before the school day started. No one knew I was there.

Then came my wakeup call. The microphone was snatched from the usual boring kid that read from the mimeographed sheet that someone stuck down in front of him just before they woke him up to read it. There was some blowing in the microphone as everyone stared at the loud speaker, looking for relief from the obnoxious noise that was keeping us up.

There was more blowing and some rude feedback before the voice of our illustrious principal, TV Warthen, and no, the TV didn't stand for television, brought us all to attention as the citing of the Pledge Of Allegiance might do.

"I would like to be the first to congratulate Coach Becker and his track team. They came home victorious Saturday afternoon, defeating five Baltimore County teams. Job well done, Mr. Becker. There were numerous school and county records set during the meet. Good job boys. We look forward to more victories this season. Thank you. That is all."

Well, not quite the first, but the highest ranking.

We had been noticed. Since the day track tryouts were announced, we had been avoided like the plague. Each baseball win or lose was mentioned but never the scores from our earlier track meets.

People in my homeroom patted my back and asked me about the victory. Some had no clue I was on the track team but they all knew now. I really didn't mind bragging about our win. They did ask and I recounted the highlights for them, until the teacher brought the class back to order. I never expected that kind of reaction from my classmates. No one but Tommy had mentioned my participation on the track team in school. It felt good being noticed.

Victory was indeed sweet but it was short lived with the rest of the season ahead of us. If I thought this would help Coach Becker lighten up on us, boy was I ever wrong. Our winning only meant we had to work harder to gain some respectability in our own county.

Coach had seen our potential and now he had seen that potential realized, or so it seemed then. We were the best team at Catonsville on Saturday as well as the best in our school's history. Only we'd never know when we reported for our first post victory practice.

Practice that day wasn't intense. While the feeling of euphoria had subsided, we still smiled at one another a lot. It was good to be at practice. It was good to come back together. We managed to contain our enthusiasm, while going through the motions. Coach Becker waited until the end of practice to call his sprinters together. I was ready for his compliments and the appreciation of a proud leader. What I got was nothing close to that.

"Gentlemen, we have the big track meets coming up, Northwood Invitational, County Championships, Bi-County Championships (comprised of Prince George's and Montgomery Counties), and State. What you've done so far is remarkable. You've come together as a team and you've proven that you are capable of running with anyone. The competition in these upcoming meets will give you an opportunity to prove it. It's time to reach down and see what you're capable of doing. It won't be easy. You're young but It's time you let them know you're here. Then you all get one more season to remind them you're here. Except you, Charles. You get two seasons.

"Yeah," Bob said, and hands seemed to come from everywhere to mess up my, too, short hair.

"Your times prove you can run with the best. Prince George's County is no longer the issue. Your record speaks for itself. To be the best each of you need to give me one thing; a single step. That's it. I want each of you to improve your races by one step. That's how far away you are from being on top as I see it.

"What you did Saturday is the preliminary for what's coming. I don't care if the step comes in the handoff zone, or in your race; to move up to where you need to go from here, you each need to find me that step, winning consistently will come with it. So, that's what you need to do to get where you need to go, and I can't tell you how to do it. That's your job. I can only tell you what you need to do.

"One step, gentlemen. That's what it will take to keep you out front for the rest of the season. I want that step and I want you to keep it on your mind.

"This weekend is Northwood Invitational and we'll be preparing to run with Montgomery County schools, not behind them; with them!"

Everyday Coach Becker would come to the edge of the infield without crossing the curb, and he watched us practice. It was like he'd given us all he had to give and it was up to us to find the step he wanted.

One step became the battle cry and four sprinters were the coach's passion. There were no longer the endless sessions where he was trying to get us to understand the technique and the timing of what we did. We'd proved that we had developed those skills.

We distanced ourselves from the other sprinters and always trained together. After calisthenics we followed Tom and his starting block to the front of the bleachers where we took up residence. Tom stayed with us until we were done for the day, and only then would he go back to his lonely routine of starting over and over again, until his day was done.

The field men were over by the baseball field, doing their thing. The distance men ran round and round the track, only coming into our world in passing. They stayed on the inside of the track and we worked in the last two lanes, knowing what we had to do.

Preparations for Northwood Invitational Track Meet were different. There was a new intensity in the voice of our coach. There was an intensity that came to practice each day with Whitey and Tom, exceeding what they displayed before our win. I wasn't sure if this was a bi-product of winning or because Northwood Invitational was special in a way I didn't know about yet. It wasn't something I knew how to ask them about either.

I did know it was an important track meet as track meets go and the first time Prince George's County invaded Montgomery Count in earnest, but not the last. Montgomery County schools didn't invade Prince George's County. Their athletes were pampered and no one wanted to risk them on our tracks and they only resembled ours in the shape that they took.

On Wednesday and Thursday we practiced our jumps. Believe me, jumping into cold damp sawdust was nothing like the fine foam we'd been exposed to in Catonsville, where we learned how the other half lived.

Coach's face strained in an almost smile as he once more tried to get us to understand the fundamentals of jumping, but none of us were jumpers, not even Tom, who got some applause the first time he came to the pits to practice. We were sprinters, more so than ever before, and that was where our minds and hearts dwelled.

Luckily practicing the jumps came at the very end of the day. The sawdust had an amazing way of adhering to my shins and the Atomic Balm I used each day. If he noticed he never mentioned it but it often appeared on his athletes from time to time, but that wasn't the worst of it, because sawdust also gets into every crack and crevice you have, not to mention how well jock straps attract the stuff. Even a long hot shower didn't dislodge it.

The week went swiftly.

Friday was our light day so we took our time getting out for calisthenics. When I arrived at the bleachers for the team meeting, I couldn't help but notice a large pristine box in the middle of the track in front of the bleachers. Johnny Green had been posted next to it to keep his curious teammates away from it.

Coach Becker arrived late to address his troops and found us, too, curious to give him our full attention. He carried his clipboard and a wide smile, and his prepared remarks were set aside for a few minutes.

"Gentlemen, to the victors go the spoils. I would like you to line up next to the box."

We surrounded the box like some alien being might pop forth any second.

When Coach Becker popped the top on it, we were totally and completely blown away. He reached into the box to retrieve a brand new running shirt: Suitland Track & Field was written in the upper left corner and a clear sharp genuine red stripe ran laterally across the chest.

There was a collective cheer for the shirt as we jostled each other for a closer look at the prize.

"Take your time. There's one for each of you and these to go with it."

He handed the shirt to Whitey and retrieved a pair of red shorts that crinkled as he held them up to the cheers of his team. We had uniforms to run in that were every bit as nice as the ones we'd admired at Catonsville. It was a real treat to give up the refugee look.

A lot of guys couldn't wait to try them on and so they jettisoned whatever they were wearing to get into their new uniforms. It was useless to say no and so Coach Becker stepped back and let us go. We needed to wear them if only for a few minutes. It would make our entry at Northwood a lot easier on our egos. We'd walk taller and perform better because of these. It was guaranteed, and so for five minutes we stood around admiring our new uniforms.

"Bring the old uniforms to my office and we'll dispose of them for you. Maybe we'll burn them in the middle of the football field one afternoon," Coach Becker said to the applause of his team.

We never saw them again, after they were thrown into the old broken down box, they'd come out of, but the idea of burning them told us that Coach Becker had more understanding of how those uniforms made us feel than he let on.

The Northwood Invitational Track Meet would start early and run late and there would be fifteen teams competing. We knew that Montgomery County teams came equipped with twice as many guys, more than one coach, trainers, and training equipment to enhance their performances. It was the wealthiest county in the country at the time and it didn't come without perks.

An early start on another Saturday had us on the road before nine. The ride wasn't as long as the one to Catonsville, but it was a good half an hour once we left our side of town.


Send Rick an email at quillswritersrealm@yahoo.com

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"On Winning Book One" Copyright © 2024 OLYMPIA50. All rights reserved.
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