Blackie asks Rags if itâs okay to have a race around the block. By that he means over Elizabeth Avenue, down Portugal Cove Road and up Kennaâs Hill. Rags says okay, and we grab our sneakers. Bug says he wants to be the timer and takes my Mickey. Oberstein gets his scribbler to record the times. Since Shorty Richardsonâs magical run, Blackie takes every opportunity to have a race. Even during recess, we go outside and have hundred-yard dashes. And Blackie says soon weâll start sprinting races to the Bat Cave.
Ryan is first out of the blocks. He always starts and finishes with a kamikaze kick thatâs good for ten to twenty yards. The funniest thing about running is watching everyone. You get to see everyone in a different way. Murphy almost kicks himself in the bum his feet go so high behind him when he runs. Cross is a huffy runner. Kavanagh runs like one leg wants to go east and the other wants to go west. But Shorty Richardson and Ryan donât even look like theyâre running. They look so graceful they seem to be gliding. No up-and-down head motion. No movement of their shoulders. They look like they have motors in their sneakers. They donât seem like theyâre doing any work. And unlike the rest of us, they donât seem to work up a sweat. At times, they donât even look like theyâre breathing.
In no time we race through the leafy streets to Kennaâs Hill, which is really steep. Blackie loves taking that route because Ryan always makes great time on the hill. And Blackieâs always rooting for Ryan so heâll push Shorty Richardson harder. Ryanâs only hope for beating Richardson is to open a wide lead on Kennaâs Hill. Nobody can catch Ryan on hills. And nobody catches Shorty on the flats. As we approach the uphill slope, where Ryan overtook Shorty once when Shortyâs knee was sore, we all know that if Ryan can get to the top well ahead of Shorty, this might be the day heâll beat him to the soccer field. Sometimes when youâre running, if youâre having a great day and the other runners arenât doing so good, they feel worse when you pass them, especially on a hill. Lotsa races are won and lost on a steep hill coming into the home stretch.
Richardson is well ahead of the pack when we pass Memorial Stadium. At the bottom of Kennaâs Hill, Ryanâs kamikaze kick rockets him past Shorty Richardson. In no time, he opens up a big lead. With about thirty yards between them he approaches Mount Carmel Cemetery. We are all chugging uphill, well behind them, slick-faced with sweat, our eyes glued to Ryan, who does the most amazing thing. He stops by the cemetery gate, pulls out his lizard and takes a leak. We are all flabbergasted. Blackie laughs so hard he stops running for a minute. Richardson closes the gap on the hill and they race neck and neck halfway up Torbay Road. A few hundred yards from the soccer field, with Oberstein, Bug, and a huddle of Klub members hollering their excitement, Shorty Richardson blows by Ryan.
When we finish up, Blackie tells Ryan he wouldâve won if he hadnât pissed by the graveyard.
âI know,â Ryan gasps. âBut I had to spring a leak. Hadda leaky faucet.â
Blackie laughs hard. âI know,â he repeats. âAinât nuthinâ you can do when Mother Nature calls.â
Oberstein passes me a tiny square of paper with my time on it. âMake a note of it. Blackie wants you to drop a few seconds off next time you do that route. Forget about cheating. Iâm recording every run in my scribbler.â Then he leans against the side of the cement handball court and gazes at the building. A huge shadow cast by the Mount falls over the yard and stretches slowly toward the row of shuddering pine trees lining JDâs garden. The last of the runners enters the building. Oberstein stands perfectly still, staring at the Mount a long time, his round glasses catching the
Ryan is first out of the blocks. He always starts and finishes with a kamikaze kick thatâs good for ten to twenty yards. The funniest thing about running is watching everyone. You get to see everyone in a different way. Murphy almost kicks himself in the bum his feet go so high behind him when he runs. Cross is a huffy runner. Kavanagh runs like one leg wants to go east and the other wants to go west. But Shorty Richardson and Ryan donât even look like theyâre running. They look so graceful they seem to be gliding. No up-and-down head motion. No movement of their shoulders. They look like they have motors in their sneakers. They donât seem like theyâre doing any work. And unlike the rest of us, they donât seem to work up a sweat. At times, they donât even look like theyâre breathing.
In no time we race through the leafy streets to Kennaâs Hill, which is really steep. Blackie loves taking that route because Ryan always makes great time on the hill. And Blackieâs always rooting for Ryan so heâll push Shorty Richardson harder. Ryanâs only hope for beating Richardson is to open a wide lead on Kennaâs Hill. Nobody can catch Ryan on hills. And nobody catches Shorty on the flats. As we approach the uphill slope, where Ryan overtook Shorty once when Shortyâs knee was sore, we all know that if Ryan can get to the top well ahead of Shorty, this might be the day heâll beat him to the soccer field. Sometimes when youâre running, if youâre having a great day and the other runners arenât doing so good, they feel worse when you pass them, especially on a hill. Lotsa races are won and lost on a steep hill coming into the home stretch.
Richardson is well ahead of the pack when we pass Memorial Stadium. At the bottom of Kennaâs Hill, Ryanâs kamikaze kick rockets him past Shorty Richardson. In no time, he opens up a big lead. With about thirty yards between them he approaches Mount Carmel Cemetery. We are all chugging uphill, well behind them, slick-faced with sweat, our eyes glued to Ryan, who does the most amazing thing. He stops by the cemetery gate, pulls out his lizard and takes a leak. We are all flabbergasted. Blackie laughs so hard he stops running for a minute. Richardson closes the gap on the hill and they race neck and neck halfway up Torbay Road. A few hundred yards from the soccer field, with Oberstein, Bug, and a huddle of Klub members hollering their excitement, Shorty Richardson blows by Ryan.
When we finish up, Blackie tells Ryan he wouldâve won if he hadnât pissed by the graveyard.
âI know,â Ryan gasps. âBut I had to spring a leak. Hadda leaky faucet.â
Blackie laughs hard. âI know,â he repeats. âAinât nuthinâ you can do when Mother Nature calls.â
Oberstein passes me a tiny square of paper with my time on it. âMake a note of it. Blackie wants you to drop a few seconds off next time you do that route. Forget about cheating. Iâm recording every run in my scribbler.â Then he leans against the side of the cement handball court and gazes at the building. A huge shadow cast by the Mount falls over the yard and stretches slowly toward the row of shuddering pine trees lining JDâs garden. The last of the runners enters the building. Oberstein stands perfectly still, staring at the Mount a long time, his round glasses catching the
Similar Books
The Evil That Men Do: FBI Profiler Roy Hazelwood's Journey Into the Minds of Sexual Predators
Stephen G. Michaud, Roy Hazelwood
