Breathless

A starters gun’s loud pop brought an end to the mind’s nervous state and the butterflies fled. Those first few strides of the school’s annual cross-country race were a mad dash get to the front. This colourful cluster of runners formed a blob of bobbing heads for the first hundred meters or so until the downhill of the access road eagerly swallowed them from the attending officials and spectators sight.

Some used this momentum moving to the front clattering over the cattle grid protecting the gate at the bottom. They turned a sharp right along the dirt road, chased by an already thinning pack of contenders. Pebbles on the dirt road cautioned haste not speed.

Before the runners had time to get over the initial shot of adrenaline the course took them off the road onto a path leading into the bush. It was down to single file now in the thick undergrowth. This path pulled them up, up, up the hill. Aerobic breathing replaced the anaerobic rush of the start. Breathing bellowed as each step nearer the top demanded more oxygen. Arms pumping the calves and thighs, complained bitterly at the lactic acid infusion, hampering their ability to perform. Heads down, step by step the leaders tugged the hilltop in. Suddenly gasps of air eased the burning legs as the hill’s highpoint flattened. The sent of the pines lining the path for short distance was a sweet reward . A clear view of the road ahead popped out.

I was in third place. Ian the school’s champion cross-country runner was opening his stride, owning the race. We were now on a dirt road. It was sunny and cool that afternoon, perfect conditions for running. Trained thoughts brought a measured pace. Controlled breathing slid me into the zone. I was focused on the road ten meters in front of me. Sounds were muted.

“This way” a race volunteer yelled, snapping me out of the trance. He waved at an opening in the bushes alongside the road. It dipped to reveal another path heading diagonally away. For a moment I was on my own, could not see anyone in front of me and when I last took a glance behind I saw three or four runners fifty or sixty paces back on the road. I was holding second place now. Up and down, round a bend it went in the undergrowth. After a while the winding trail circled back towards the road. I turned a corner. Ian was doubled up in pain.

“You OK” I asked stupidly, stopping to see if I could help in some way.

“Cramps” came back the reply. “Tell someone at the halfway point. It’s not far, just across the road. Keep going Tommy” he added grimacing.

Picking up the pace I reached halfway, grabbed a mouthful of water and spluttered to the Rev the athletic coach “Ian’s cramping badly just back there”.

“Thanks we will get to him” he replied already on his way to the van.

Breathing became quicker. Heartbeats up. The open field ahead flattened. Snippets of scrub lined the path in front of me becoming a carpet when I looked around to check my progress. The steady breath in, hold, three strides and out was a metronome demanding rhythm. The comforting pat, pat, pat of my shoes stroking the gravel was the only sound that penetrated the silence of concentration. Time was lost but did it matter?

Looking ahead I could see the rocky outcrop of the hill overlooking the school grounds and the town beyond. Closer now. Hold on. The hill was littered with school spectators whose urging cries came louder, clearer. “Tommy, Tommy go, go”. Momentum carried me over the slight incline leading into the array of rocks covered with live chanting limbs clinging like puffins to their clifftop. Through he little twisty turns in the rocks the path made a sharp turn around the corner abruptly falling away down the hill. Careful now, no slipping as gravity took hold. A quick glance to my right showed the sports field we had vacated in haste.

The descent turned into the tarmac of the road joining the school buildings below with the field above. Paces changed, shorter, quicker. The open gate beckoned. Up the hill again, arms willing legs to the top and a lap of the field remained. The kind cheers chilling the bodies heat was relieving. The tape tickled the loneliness away.

With water in my hands I turned to watch the efforts of the other runners. How was Ian? What had happened? And there he was breaking the hill onto the track. Determined. He finished fifth. We smiled, high fiving. A mutual congratulations and respect. Something he ate at lunch he said.