American Dream

Rolling hills

Carter 

I dragged my feet towards the court as i set down my duffel. This was the first of many long daily sessions, with daily medium runs. The worst thing about today, was that Coach Jim was taking us today. If there was anything that could possibly define that thorn, it was that he loved jocks. Which basically meant that he loathed a weirdo like me. I never fit in, never bothered to suck-up. If anything, I exuded a couldn't-be-bothered attitude when it came to my image. I'd practice with earphones on, run in long pants, and wear long sleeves to the gym. 

I did hang around with the popular group, and there was so much burden because the best athlete in our school so happened to be a social outcast and didn't take me seriously half the time because i got forced into slapping hands. 

Partying was what limited me, Coach Davis said, but my dull, silly response to that was. 'I had no choice. I only go once a month. It happens twice in a week, mate. It's an obligation if you're a jock.' 

Davis would point at Chris and say, rolling his eyes. 'I think you know why that guy wins everything on the world scene.' 

'In case you didn't realise, Coach, he's an outcast socially and has no friends.' 

'He wins everything. He's so good he couldn't care to compete. Are you that good?' 

I'd swallow back the retort that i played in Division 1, because David would then cite that Chris would easily medal in the NCAA and get a Nike sponsorship was ease. Which was completely factual, but hurtful. 

'When you're talking, chilling out-you know where Chris is. I see him on the mill, in the gym, building those muscles. Arms, torso, legs. He makes everything look so elegant and easy. That's where all that smoothness comes from.  You want to know why you lost at the last D1 meet? You partied that month. Chris never parties.' 

That wake up talk sparked a fire in me. I wanted to be like Chris. I knew he was set for future dominance in athletics, and he could easily be a World Medallist later on. He had the belief and the talent, and most importantly the hunger to excel. 

Unlike me. 

He knew what he wanted, and was convicted that with consistent work, he was going to get where he wanted to be. How about me? Not that straightforward. More concerned with pleasing others, getting girls, coming off the right way. 

That day, I tore a large piece of drawing block in my dorm room, and scribbled the words: 'Dream: World Champion.' I plastered it to the wall.  That was this spring, when Davis called me out in his office. From that day on, I kept looking at the way Chris toiled. It was not the 'Mamba Mentality' or 'Inner Beast' hype. It was quiet, almost laid-back manner. But he got the work done. Workout after workout. Jog after jog. Gym practice after gym practice. Stair climbs when the stars shone late at night. 

That was the ingredient that transformed talent into world beating knack. That's what I needed. From that day, I started to at least follow his way. On his jogs, I'd join for about 3 to 4 miles, and then head out to the gym. I'd sprint the stairs with him. He didn't take me half-seriously at first, and initially just ignored me. Yet, after 2 weeks, he cornered me in the hallway. 

His black face shone with approval as he clapped me on the shoulder. 'You're serious about your dream man. That matters. I thought you'd quit after a few days.' 

'Quitting is so synonymous with the trashy jocks here.' He added, rather casually.

Flashing back to the present, Jim leered in my face, but i trotted up to him, and muttered. 'Coach, I'm sorry for my attitude this morning. I'd use the target court, if you don't mind.'