Starting Position

Chapter 6

Week seventeen arrived bringing with it a series of cold, exhausting track practices. At present, I was engaged in a mile-long run with Julia and the other long-distance runners. The team was divided into groups and were to practice specific drills, moving to the next one every fifteen minutes. It was like speed dating, each date worse than the last.

My breath flew behind me like frozen smoke as I jostled down the track. Julia and I kept our tempos even and were nearly finished, when a voice flagged me down.

"Mitchell! Hey!"

My pace dwindled as I glanced to the source. It was Coach Rodriguez. Beside him stood the golden-haired form of Ben, wearing black athletic shorts and a white, long sleeve top. As soon as I stopped in place, Rodriguez waved me over. Julia had stopped running as well and shot me a confused look which I returned with a shrug before slowly jogging towards Rodriguez.

"Mitchell, hi," Rodriguez greeted, flashing me a smile.

"This better be good," I said, almost playfully. He was one of the few people I still managed to joke with.

"Hi, Elliot."

My gaze then locked on Ben. His eyes were particularly honey colored contrasted with the overcast sky. Color always seemed more vibrant against the clouds.

"Hi."

"Oh good," Rodriguez chimed in. "You already know each other." I shot him a telling look and he continued, "Mitchell, I want you to show Ben proper starting position."

I glanced at my surroundings, realizing this had been my first station of five. The station we were currently standing at was designated to work on starting position. Four other track members were huddled at the starting lines, each taking turns, one a time, improving their form and take off.

"Um," I said cautiously.

"Okay, great!" Rodriguez said, waving me over to the outside starting line. "Mitchell, here, has one of the best starting positions I've ever seen – back when she was racing at Columbia High, it was the talk between all the coaches. She has the perfect form – limber but focused – never seen anything quite like it – beautiful, really – I still claim it's responsible for all of the races she won."

"I'm going to need you to dial back about fifty percent, Coach R.," I interjected, and Rodriguez paused. His face drained of all recollection. "You're sounding a little..."

"Pervy," came the voice standing next to Rodriguez. The word caught me so off guard, I had to snap my chin upright and into place once I realized it was hanging open.

"What he said," I remarked, the hint of smile threatening to break on my face.

"What?!" Rodriguez crowed. "You can't say that! I'm not being – perv – that!" The arms that were wagging around neurotically came to a standstill across his chest. "I was simply saying that Mitchell has the best starting position I have ever seen, and I'd like her to show you to help."

Walking towards Rodriguez and placing a hand on his shoulder, I simply said, "And that's what you should have said to begin with."

Rodriguez blew air from his mouth and uncrossed his arms. "I was singing your praises, and this is the thanks I get?" One of the other track members around us snagged Rodriguez's attention and caused him to say, "Louis, straighter – no, more in your back. Like that. Good."

"Calm down." Pushing back my amusement and stealing a glance at Ben, I continued, "I won't report you."

"Much appreciated," said Rodriguez. The amusement I had tossed aside apparently had fallen onto him, as a rueful smile played on his face. "Now that that's over with, will you show Ben? Please and thank you."

"Sure."

All in all, Rodriguez has been correct. A runner's starting position was very important to the initial function of the race, and over the years, mine had been mended and molded to perfection.

Quickly, I glanced at Ben again. He was standing on the other side of Rodriguez, close to the starting line. His golden hair rippled like wheat in the wind. He looked like he normally did, with no sign he was uncomfortable with my presence. I wondered if my expression indicated just how uncomfortable I was. The weight of many looming eyes hung around me as thick and as heavy as the clouds. The few track members engaged in the group were certainly not containing their curious looks.

Rodriguez shouted, "Tomlin, Bender, get back to practicing!" and the two freshmen shuffled their feet and withdrew. The eyes of more onlookers invaded our space at the heightened pitch of Rodriguez's voice.

Time to get this over with. I walked over the starting line as Ben stepped to the side and out of my way. Rodriguez had me take my mark and I assumed the position: left foot forward and right foot back, both feet pointed straight ahead, and back and neck aligned. He then exclaimed "set," and I felt my head instinctively drop and my arms shot to their appropriate place. There was strength in my base. At "go," my body responded as though another force had taken its stead, each part collaborating to propel me forward. Down the track I flew.

Just as soon as I had started, my feet began to slow. Eventually I inhaled a deep breath and turned around. Rodriguez was looking at me as if he was a proud father, but the look on Ben's face made me double take. He looked both impressed and worried, a strange combination. But, once I grew closer to them both, Ben's expression nullified.

"Like artwork," Rodriguez said as I approached, and I rolled my eyes. "Now, why don't you go step by step so Ben can see the motion?"

The next few minutes were spent going through each motion of the starting position. It felt strange at first. I had grown so used to my body taking over I found it difficult to recall the steps involved. As I was going through them, Rodriguez explained the steps and their importance to Ben, and, after I had completed the series, Ben attempted to recreate "the masterpiece."

It was physically painful to watch. His movements were jerky, and his positioning usually resulted with him wobbling over. While he attempted to stabilize himself, his starting position looked as though it was a huge strain on his body. And, for all I knew, it was. When the time came where he attempted to practice the sequence in full, Ben lost his footing and nearly toppled over. I had expected him to call it quits, but he resumed the position and tried once more, again losing his footing.

"Thanks, Mitchell, we'll keep practicing," Rodriguez said, and then looked to Ben. "You'll get it. It just takes time."

After I had left the two of them and rejoined my group, I stole another glance at Ben for what felt like the tenth time that day, and saw he was back in position, ready to try again.