A Mask in A Mirror

Chapter 2: Hero Man (Boy)

"Dude, Clay, what are you doing over here? Long distance is meeting by the high jump pad." Dave was looking down that particularly large nose of his at me yet again. Both figuratively and literally, he was a good four inches taller than I was.

"I know, but I'm not a runner, I'm a thrower." I sighed, it's not like this was a conversation I'd ever had before.

"Nah, man you ran on the cross country team, and you don't play football." Dave was legitimately confused.

"Throwing is more than just an excuse to use the weight room in the offseason, Dave. And just because I run cross country doesn't mean I have to be a long distance runner on the track team." Looking around me I was yet again reminded of just how undersized I was relative to my competition. At 5'8" I wasn't exactly a midget, but Average Joe's look pretty tiny when surrounded by shot-putters and discus throwers.

"Appleseed! I said distance to the high jump pad!" Coach Jefferson had noticed me too.

"Yes sir, but I'm a discus thrower!" This cycle repeated itself a few more times until the practice finally resumed. The throwing instructor, Coach Allen, started running a few disc drills with us, nothing too complex on the first day. Certainly nothing I hadn't done before. Disc was one of my passions, I loved the sport.

To end the practice on a high note, coach decided to let us all have two throws so that he could get an idea of what we were working with. To my surprise, Dave actually did pretty well, letting loose a throw just over one hundred feet. "Nice!" I cheered him, the others gave me a few sideways glances. Evidently they thought I was a little too into it.

"All right, Clay, you're up." Coach Allen called me. I was the last to throw, and with Dave having topped one hundred I was actually feeling a little pressure. Spinning I could blow that out of the water, but a standing throw was much harder for me, as I had a huge size disadvantage. Never the less I stepped into the ring to let loose a standing throw for my first attempt. I pulled back in my windup, stretching my muscles out as far as I could, ignoring my nerves and relaxing my shoulders. Then I cut loose, straining with everything I had, slinging not just my arm but my entire upper body. I let out my usual grunt, forcing the air from my lungs in order to draw my chest in, and released the disc into the air. It sailed across the field, landing very close to Dave's marker.

"Hey! Man! Clay! You beat Dave!" A wild looking boy whose name I did not know started shouting from out in the field where he was marking everybody's best toss.

"No way! He marked that wrong!" Dave wasn't taking it well. I could have argued the point, but why bother when I still had my secret weapon. Most junior high competitors can't spin successfully until the end of the season, if they do at all, but I was well practiced. While I was far from having completely mastered the spin, I could still add a few feet to my throw with it. So I set up for my second and final throw of the day.

The discus throw is generally referred to as a spin, but I find it much easier to visualize by thinking of it as a two-step sprint to the front of the ring and that's what I did. Pivoting on my left foot I thrust my right leg forward initiating my throw, keeping my upper body pulled back and loose until the very last second, and then rotating my entire body around throwing all of my momentum out the front of the ring I released the disc again. This time it flew well past Dave's marker.

The wild looking boy marking our throws burst out laughing, Dave dropped his jaw and stammered about cheating, and Coach Allen started scratching the top of his head with the brim of his ball cap. "Well, I'm glad you decided not to be a runner after all." Coach Allen said.

I was smiling and soaking in my victory when a powerful blow between my shoulder blades sent me stumbling forward. I spun around, using my left foot just as I would to begin my throw, I found myself face to face with the boy who had been marking our throws. He had long curly black hair, even at thirteen he already had an aftershave, but what stuck out the most were his eyes. They were a bright blue, brimming with joy and what seemed to be a deeper appreciation of the world. It was his eyes that stopped me from launching a full on offensive. Well, his eyes, and the fact that he was twice my size.