But, there would be no more waiting in line for me or having to ask for special favors. Not that night, not for the rest of that week, and pretty much not ever again. At least not as long as Crazy Eddie’s mother Betty had anything to say about it, and believe me, she sure as hell did! In one day’s time, I’d become a Mashnee hero, random strangers suddenly stopping to shake my hand, rub my head, or pat my back. Little ole me.
What more could this island have in store?
Chapter 10
Rivals
So about this Mashnee Island Road Race…
Turned out it actually was a big deal. Not only would there be Mashnee runners of all ages, but the race, along with its bragging rights, apparently attracted large contingencies from Grey Gables, Pocasset, and a particularly spirited group from Memorial Beach. The day before, I had learned there would be two age divisions for kids: ten and under, and eleven to fifteen, and without a moment’s hesitation, I carefully printed Jimmyrocket next to the latter!
The race was to be a familiar route: twice around Mashnee, running between a series of marked cones as they zig-zagged through the narrow streets, then across the playground and around the full perimeter of The Club, cutting across Bad Hop Field to Mashnee Road, then up and down the full length of the dike and back across The Bump to the finish line, colorfully marked with bright yellow stripes and a “rendering” of the island artistically delineated by some of the island’s pre-school children. It promised to be a hot, crowded route.
I couldn’t sleep much the night before. In fact, I felt nauseous. “Butterflies in your stomach,” my father called it. Wanting to puke is what I called it.
Ever the optimist, my dad inserted, “Don’t worry, buddy. All good athletes get them; they’ll make you run faster. You’ll see.”
It was another one of those frequent times he said just the right thing. Like the times he told me to “Stick to your guns”, or “Never judge a person until you walk a mile in their shoes” or “It’s easier to be a failure than a success.” That sorta thing. You know. Dad stuff.
Anyway, when I finally did fall asleep, surprisingly, my dreams had nothing to do with road races or running at all.
Instead, I dreamed I was floating in the middle of a tumultuous ocean on a large, yellow, wooden raft. I was secured to the raft by a single, thick, rusted chain, fastened around my waist and affixed to the raft’s creaking frame, and the weather was such that I was being tossed about at will. I felt fear. And it felt real.
Somewhere on another level, I was attempting to will myself back to consciousness, but to no avail. Each time a wave slammed into the raft, I was tossed higher and farther away from it, before being snapped back by the chain. I could almost feel the whiplash in my back and neck. Suddenly, the raft started to move seemingly on its own, faster and faster, suctioned thru the sharp waters as if the sea had resisted the intrusion.
My head was a-whirl with images of huge waves slamming into me as I held on in desperation. I wanted to wake up, really, really wanted to, but its grip was fierce and unrelenting. Then one final tsunami of a wave picked up the raft, and tossed it, and me, sickeningly high in the air, crash landing (I remember thinking, can you see yourself die in a dream?) on what appeared to be a sandy beach, with a roped-off swimming area, and large yellow rafts afloat, just like the one to which I was fastened, but now noticing, that I was no longer fastened to it.
There were colorful lounge chairs full of sunbathers in my dream, and I noted how each group of chairs were haphazardly chained to small metal posts, and I thought: Wow, they still think somebody’s gonna steal one. It was then that I realized where I was.
The next morning Mashnee was abuzz with excitement! People congregated everywhere. The race wouldn’t start until 11:00 a.m., but at 8:00 a.m. a slew of runners were already lined up to sign in at the Official Mashnee Road Race Tent, including me. The island was packed with families and activity. I saw a bunch of my buddies and lots of other people I knew. There were even news reporters. Honestly, I wasn’t being overly talkative or friendly. I don’t know if we called it a game face back then, but that’s what I had on.
When it was my turn to sign in, Mr. Sleety, the event organizer and grand marshall of the Road Race, gave me a big welcoming greeting.
“Wow, here’s the speedy one! Why hello there Mr. Rocket, so glad you’re joining us! Gotta tell ya, we’re awfully proud of you ’round here, son. Hope you know we’ll be pulling for you!” I felt instantly flushed. It was not the sun that was blistering my face and heating my ears; it was his praises that embarrassed me, but I managed to mumble a semi-inaudible response.
“Thanks... Didn’t really do all that much. Just ran.”
“Let me ask you, how old are you, son (again people calling me that)?” Mr. Sleety, a friendly, almost-jolly, rotund man with a bald head spotted with sweat droplets, and very full white beard, questioned.
“I’m ten; my birthday was last spring,” I more than enthusiastically replied.
“I see. You sure you want to run against those older boys, son? Some of them are an awful lot bigger than you,” he added. (Ya, I noticed!)
“That’s ok, sir. I’ll take my chances,” I replied with polite confidence.
“Ok, kid, I’ll put you in the older group.”
At precisely 11:00 a.m., with runners in their starting positions and onlookers lined up at all points Mashnee as well as up and down the dike, Mr. Sleety stepped up to a makeshift podium, paused long enough to take in the tension of the much-anticipated moment, then fired off an air-gun to blaring applause, and I was off
Like a freakin’ rocket!
I ran hard. I ran fast. I ran with a purpose...
I was in a favorable position!
I felt like I could run forever and blow these kids away!
I didn’t win.
Not even close.
Ummmm, there was an incident.
I was running intently and well. I tore through the Mashnee section of the race torpedoing through the obstacles and around the island. There were only a few runners ahead of me by the time I hit the dike, and they were all the fast, older kids, led by Arlington’s star football player, Ronny Parker, followed by speedsters Darren Billings and his sidekick Buddy, Jeter Auerbach (who quite notably went on to swim in the U.S. Olympics), and a bunch of off-island kids I didn’t know.
I could feel the intense energy of the cheering spectators, and even more so, of the island itself, pushing me forward as if in a vortex. I was ahead of all the runners in my age group when I made the turn at the far end of the dike, heading back to Mashnee with plenty of wind left in my sail. Only steps behind me were a small contingent of three or four runners from Memorial Beach, grouped tightly together, hot on my trail and breathing down my neck.
As we made the slight bend at Hog Island, its rocky shore packed with boisterous spectators, the Memorial Beach group put on a charge and spurted ahead in unison.
They were the only group ahead of me, other than those much older kids like Ronny Parker who could be seen running away with it, and I responded with a fast spurt of my own as my legs, which still had reserves, despite basically sprinting the whole distance, kicked into overdrive.
And bam, just like that, the runner directly in front of me from Memorial Beach stopped short and bent down (later claiming he needed to tie his shoe?). “He couldn’t be!” was my waning thought before slamming smack into him and tumbling over like a Flying Zambini Brother.
“Ah. Shiiiit!” I managed to bounce onto my shoulder to avoid certain damage, but still skidded hard enough to bloody both knees, as several runners hopped over my flailing carnage.
By the time I got up, hearing a very non-apologetic sounding, “Sorry, not sorry, kid, shit happens,” and started running again, any shot of winning my division was long gone, and I would place fourth, well behind the thirteen-year-old winner, Gilbert Jefferson, from, you guessed it, Memorial Beach.
And so would begin our long and fiercely intense rivalry with the boys from Memorial Beach. Our summer destinies now fused together for all eternity.
