“You better finish your dinner, or you won’t have enough energy to do any running.”
Linda snorted and sighed deeply. When she’d won, they’d learn just what being proud really was. She had to win to make that happen.
She finished her dinner and headed to her room to study, but more importantly, to record her miles and times for the day, hoping she’d met her goals. It was a time she treasured, but already, after just a week, she was falling behind since Coach Conrad was restricting her miles and speed. Linda vowed to do some running from home to make up the difference. She glanced at the poster on the wall: “17:23” written in felt marker, the winning time in last year’s state meet. It was a visual goal, but Linda wanted to run faster–had to run faster to be certain of winning. Her goal was to post a new sign at the end of the season–her state-meet winning time, the goal for next year.
She studied the numbers in her book, adding, subtracting, and dividing in her head, processing the results over and over, sometimes pacing the floor as she struggled with ways to make the numbers meet her expectations. It was sometimes exhilarating, and other times desperately frustrating. Finally, she got to her studies.
***
“Ladies, we’ve learned a lot from practice and the short-timed runs we’ve done, but today we’re going to have a full-course time trial. Next weekend is our first invitational, and we have to figure out who’s doing what.” Newt was anxious to find if he had a competitive team or simply a single outstanding runner.
“We’re all going to be running,” someone in the back said, and even Coach laughed.
“You’ve got it, running. Stacy and Kate will be at one and two miles calling out times, and I’ll be at the finish giving you your time. Remember it in case we can’t get it written down.”
The seventeen runners went to the starting line, laughing and talking except for Linda, whose intensity and focus was apparent. Coach gave them a loud “GO,” and the girls scampered away. It was about a hundred meters to where the course entered the woods, and Linda was thirty meters ahead when she disappeared into the trees. Coach Conrad smiled.
“Hey, Newt, I heard you’re having a time trial, and I thought I’d check to see if Linda is living up to my hype.” Hands in pockets, Frank nudged his fellow coach with his shoulder.
“I suspect she will, but she’s kind of scary. I’ve never had a girl runner who’s so intense. If I tell her to run five 400s in seventy-five, she’ll run six in seventy–or sixty-five. If I tell her to back off and do what I say, it’s like I’ve told her she’s no good, or I’m scolding her or something.” Newt was shaking his head. “Maybe she’s right, and I’m wrong.”
“I saw the same kind of thing and wondered, just as you have. And she was only fourteen then.”
They stood and talked cross-country things until they saw a familiar blonde in running gear burst out of the woods heading toward them.
“Ho-ly shit,” Newt said slowly, looking at his watch.
“What?” Frank said, trying to catch a glimpse of the watch.
“Just wait, and listen,” Newt cautioned.
Long legs churning, arms pumping, and ponytail bouncing, Linda was not letting up a bit as she approached the finish. As she flew past, Newt called out her time.
“Seventeen forty-six,” he yelled, hardly able to believe what he’d just said. He looked at Frank, whose eyes were wide.
“Is that for real?” Frank asked, getting a nod from Newt.
Linda was quickly back, breathing hard with hands above her head, the proper attitude at the end of an exhausting run. She had an anxious look on her face.
“Did you say seventeen forty-six?” she asked, biting her lower lip.
“Wow. I sure did,” Newt said, expecting a more joyful expression.
Instead, a look of disappointment crossed Linda’s face, and she gazed off toward the trees.
“Crap,” she said softly and began to walk away, hands on hips now.
“Linda, wait,” Newt said, following behind her, knowing none of the other girls would be finishing soon. “What’s wrong?”
Her face had a defeated look, her eyes closed.
“I ran the second mile way too slow and couldn’t make up for it in the third.” She shrugged. “I wanted to go seventeen thirty.”
“Linda, that’s state-meet time.”
“I know. That’s what I wanted.” She wondered why Coach Conrad didn’t understand.
“The state is two months away, Linda, but that time would have finished third or fourth last year.” Newt was working to break into what he felt was Linda’s fantasy world.
“So?” she said, “I don’t want to finish third or fourth. I want to win, to finish first.”
This was something Newt had never dealt with. He was usually pushing, encouraging, and even threatening the girls about running more, working harder, and running faster. This was a dream that could easily turn into a nightmare. He prayed he could handle it correctly.
“So,” Newt said, “we want to peak for the state meet, and not too early. After that”–he paused for effect, hoping it might work–“could be The Midwest Meet of Champions if all goes well.” The expression on Linda’s face slowly changed, transforming into a pleasant smile. As he watched her face light up, Newt relaxed a little. She was certainly a challenge.
“After I win the state,” she added.
***
At the first invitational meet that involved twenty-eight teams, more than a few coaches and spectators stood open-mouthed as Linda, the unknown freshman, sailed home in seventeen twenty-nine, just under two minutes ahead of second place.
It was hard to compare times on cross-country courses as they were notoriously poorly measured and often varied from year to year as the people who marked the course forgot which tree or which bush indicated where the course turned. Rather than time, how you fared against other runners was a better measure of progress.
But for Linda, times were sacred, and she coveted the reductions she worked to achieve. She usually finished so far ahead of her competition that the huge differences in times and distances seemed meaningless.
Subsequent meets produced the same results as Linda was pushing toward the seventeen-minute barrier. Newt was in awe of his freshman runner, who never seemed satisfied with what she’d done and continually challenged herself to do more…faster…more…faster.
At last, it was the Monday of state-meet week, and, as always, Linda walked to school; if you could call the pace she maintained walking. Halfway there, to her chagrin, she was joined by fellow freshman Jackson Murphy. It wasn’t that Jack was more annoying than others she’d decided; it was that he constantly interrupted and distracted her. Actually, as she thought more about it, Jack was a little more annoying than others, but that was because he liked her. She couldn’t be bothered with a boy liking her, particularly during cross-country season. But, here he was.
“Hi, Linda,” Jack said, falling in beside her and trying to keep up. “How come you walk so fast?”
Looking a bit annoyed, Linda was sure he’d asked that before. “It’s good exercise and helps with the cross country,” she replied, not looking at Jack.