Yesterday, at USN's river campus and with a heat index of 100 degrees, JP's MBA 7th/8th grade cross country team ran their first meet of the season against CPA, Overbrook, Ensworth, and USN. It was so hot, in fact, that the various school official gave serious thought to canceling the meet.
I picked up Joe at USN and we arrived at USN's river campus as the 7th/8th grade girls' race was underway. JP's race was up next so we were right on time.
I had been nervous all day. Truth be told, I had been nervous for a couple of days. I'm not sure why but over all of the games I've watched JP play over the years - baseball, basketball, and soccer - cross country races make me the most nervous. I've thought about that a lot and I think it's because I know exactly how it feels to push yourself in a race to the point of exhaustion. I mean, I've done it many times, though mostly in the context of a road race in which I'm mostly racing against myself, perhaps trying to set a PR (personal record).
That's different, of course, from racing against others, especially boys you train with every day. In that case, you're competing against yourself and others. Then, for JP, there was the added layer of running a race on his old school's (USN) course against boys he went to school with, some of whom he's known for 10 years. That's a lot of pressure on 13 year old.
And, of course, it was oppressively hot.
Since JP began running with me during the early stages of the pandemic, I've been impressed with how naturally it seemed to come to him. With a modicum of regular training, he's been able to keep up with me - and push me - quite easily. He's been training on his own, too. Running regularly in the neighborhood in evenings (before school started) and on weekends. Still, I had no idea how any of that would translate in a cross country race.
The setup of the USN course allows you to catch a glimpse of the runners in four places, including the finish line. Joe and I found Jude, said hello, and I quickly walked away to be by myself, and stood alone in the shade at the second viewing point. I said a quick prayer, for JP, and for all of the boys.
Did I mention I was nervous?
As start time neared, I walked up to the first viewing point, and hear the starting gun fire. I talked to my friend, Keith, and we agreed that we hoped neither of our sons would be near the lead because of the heat. Better to fall back in the pack a bit and conserve energy for the second half of the race. If there ever was a time to run negative splits, this was it, I thought.
When the boys turned the first corner between the quarter and half mile marks and approached us on the straightaway, I saw that JP was in the lead, running fast. While I cheered for him as he ran past me, he didn't see me or hear me. He was all focus. All concentration. Staring straight ahead, steely eyed. Running smoothly. Effortlessly.
Damn, I thought. Too fast. He can't hold this pace the entire race. Smarter to hang back in the back of the lead pack. Mentally, I was kicking myself for not discussing strategy with him before the race. My thought, though, had been to let him figure that out. Let him figure out what worked and what didn't work. I felt like he needed to have that experience on his own with no input from me.
I hustled over to the second viewing point, near the mile mark. Brigid, a lawyer and longtime friend and fellow runner, was standing at the turn with me. The boys approached us, more spread out than before.
"Is that JP?" she asked. "Wow. He looks great."
"Looks like it," I replied. "He's gone out too fast, I'm afraid. I don't think he can hold that pace the rest of the race."
Brigid nodded. "Cade, the boy behind JP, is a great runner." Brigid's son, Ben, was in the lead pack, too.
I cheered for JP as he ran by and asked if he was okay. Staring straight ahead, he nodded - almost imperceptibly - as he ran by me. He still looked really good. Running smoothly and efficiently.
I walked - no, ran - across the parking lot to the third viewing spot, about a quarter mile from the finish. Parents were milling around and talking. Joe joined me and we stood together, nervously, looking to our right for the John Deere Gator to make the turn, leading the runners toward down the back side of the course.
Suddenly, we saw it. Squinting in the sun, Joe and I tried in vain to see who was in the lead.
"That's not JP," Joe said, as the runner approached in the distance. "That's not him."
"You sure?" I said. "I think that's him. Wait. It is him!"
Joe and I began cheering wildly as JP neared us, leading the second runner - Cade - by a comfortable margin. Probably 25 yards. This cannot be happening, I thought to myself.
I stared intently at JP as he passed by us. His face was a mask of concentration. And pain. A lot of pain. I've been there. I know how that feels. In that very moment, I felt so close to JP, like I was running with him. His gait wasn't quite as smooth. The running not so effortless.
This is it, I thought. This is where he finds out who he is and what he can do as a runner. What he can be as a runner. He's there and now he gets to find out.
Joe and I, joined by Jude, ran over to the finish line. A race official yelled at us as we ducked under the sideline tape. I ignored him because I was intent on getting to the end of the course so I could cheer for JP. So I could tell him who was behind him. So I could watch him cross the finish line.
JP made the final turn, still leading. He had slowed a bit and Cade was closing in on him with surprisingly strong finishing kick. JP quickly glanced over his left shoulder to see where Cade was, seeming to judge his distance and speed.
"JP!" I yelled at the top of my lungs. "Finish! Finish strong! All the way through!"
I didn't want JP to lose the race at the end, after working so hard and leading the entire way. As he told me later, he heard my voice amidst the cacophony and chaos of the race finish - and picked up his pace a bit. He crossed the finish line two seconds ahead of Cade.
JP won the first cross country race of the season. He led wire to wire. An amazing feat on such a hot day. Truly.
Afterwards, JP didn't know where he was. He fell into my arms as he crossed the finish line. He mumbled his name to the race official as she recorded the names of the top finishers. He was moaning, speaking almost incoherently. He couldn't see, he told me. I poured water over his head. Brigid and her husband gave us an ice towel to put on his neck. I gave him a Gatorade. It was all he could do to put the plastic bottle to his lips and drink it.
JP and walked around together for the next ten or 15 minutes, reeling like a couple of drunken sailors, Jude later told us.
"You're okay." I assured him. "You're okay."
Slowly, his vision returned and JP came back to me. To us. I know where he was because I've been there. It's not a place I've visited often and I haven't been there in many years but I remember it.
I remember it when I ran an 18:06 5K at the Run for the Missions in downtown Franklin. I thought my heart was going to explode after the race. That was a lifetime ago but you never forget that place after you've been there. It's such an intense experience.
Not many 13 year olds - hell, not many people - are willing to go to the place, not willingly. To do what JP did yesterday. To give that kind of effort. To push your body to the limit, to the precipice, and then to go beyond that point.
That's where the magic is - in the beyond. That's the crucible. That's where you find out about yourself. That's where you find the answers. It's where you find the secret. It's all there. All of it.
JP, Joe, Jude and I walked over to the pavilion to join JP's MBA teammates. As he walked up to join his team, another boy grabbed him, then fist bumped him.
"JP!" he said. "What a race. Man, you're a beast!!!"
I turned away quickly, so no one could see the tears in my eyes.
JP was a beast yesterday.
I'm so proud of him. It's a rare and special thing, I think, for a grown man to be inspired by his 13 year old son.
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