Saturday morning my father dropped me off at the high school before eight o'clock. I sat on my gym bag waiting for the others to arrive. The day was already full of spring warmth. The sun was shining, pleasantly warming the morning, as big white fluffy clouds moved lazily across the vivid blue sky. This was a sprinter's day and I was ready. I thought the sprinters were ready. In the pit of my stomach were excitement and the fear that went with the unknown. I was a bit edgy and I just wanted to get this show on the road.

"Catonsville Invitational Championship Track Meet." I rolled the words over my tongue. They sounded impressive. This would be my first championship track meet. Up until now they had all just been, "the track meet."

As I sat there lost in my melancholy, Coach Becker came out of the school with one of his equipment bags. He yelled for me to take it out to the curb before disappearing back inside.

He startled me. His car wasn't in the teacher's parking lot. I had checked and was left feeling foolish for thinking I was the first one there. I wondered why I hadn't checked the door.

After dropping everything on the sidewalk next to the curb, I used the equipment bags to continue my lounging act while watching my teammates arrive. Most drove themselves in the family car or wagon and were still wiping the sleep out of their eyes. We all hated giving up one of our Saturdays, at least I did.

Some of the guys immediately went to dozing nearby as we waited for the bus. Others stood near their car, chatting. They seemed casual without any of the loudness this group normally generated. I thought it was a pleasant change. I still had not adjusted to those who thought everything was a joke or should be. The problem being most of the team acted that way too much of the time.

Johnny arrived and spoke with several of the seniors, nodding at me when he noticed me sitting on the equipment bags. He seemed charged with energy, too animated to relax. I nodded and returned his smile. Whitey pulled his car in next to Tom, who was just sitting in a green station wagon. They both got out to talk leaning against Tom's car. After a few minutes they wandered over to where I sat.

Whitey spoke first, "Let's not embarrass ourselves out there today, Charles. Let's stick together, no wandering off. We don't want them thinking we're all hicks."

Little could any of us be prepared for that feeling we'd get when we got our first glimpse of Catonsville High School. Little did we know we were about to walk into the lion's den. We carried our embarrassment on our backs in the way of uniforms left over from when our school first opened, and it would mark our place that day amongst "the best" Baltimore County had to offer. We were still naïve and unwise to the ways of the world and its inequities. We were about to get an education in how the other half lives.

I smiled and nodded my agreement with Whitey, but I wasn't prepared when Tom walked up behind him smiling.

"Morning Charles. Looks like a sprinter's day."

I nearly rolled off the gym bags. I was certain that this was an opportunity I shouldn't pass up. I wanted to keep the dialogue flowing while saying something brilliant and at the same time original.

"Yeah, a sprinter's day for sure, Tom," was the best I could do, but I said it with authority.

It was better than silence. I felt that we needed to keep this new found camaraderie going, but I couldn't think of anything else to say and that quick they were over talking to James and David Stein.

Bob arrived last. He dropped down beside me on the equipment bags, looking exhausted from the drive.

"Hey," he said, closing his eyes after getting the word out.

"Hey, back," I said, happy to see my teammate.

The bus rolled up and the four sprinters immediately staked out the four rear seats. It wasn't a school bus, but one of those fancy cross-country jobs you might expect Greyhound to send. Twenty-five boys and their coach could easily get lost inside this bus. There were plenty of empty seats to hold equipment bags and medical kits. Everyone had at least a double seat, but several of the grab-assers sat together, possibly to get the maximum effect from their jokes and the never-ending puns.

"Gentlemen," Coach Becker said as he swung onto the bus hurriedly. I noticed he rattled when he walked or leaned over from the many watches clanking together. For once he didn't need to give his greeting a second time. It was so quiet he did a double take to see if he was on the right bus, or perhaps to see if we were on the bus, but we were all there with many of my teammates being half-asleep.

His gap toothed smile appeared along with a quizzical look that said he was waiting for some joke to be played on him. Instead, he received the team's full and undivided attention, well maybe not so much undivided.

"We are going a long way today, gentlemen," he beamed, seeming delighted at the prospects of escaping the confines of our county and the teams that routinely rolled over us. "We are the first team from another county to ever be invited to the Catonsville Invitational Championships. There will be five Baltimore County schools. I have a list but we'll save that for later."

"I want you to stay together today, gentlemen. Don't wander around. Don't embarrass yourselves and especially don't embarrass Suitland High School. You are representatives of the school today and should act accordingly. You know what I expect of you. Let's conduct ourselves with a little more decorum than usual.

"I should maybe schedule more Saturday track meets," he smiled, as his subdued troops yawned.

When the coach sat in the front seat and Johnny immediately moved next to him to discuss what was written on the clipboard. I was in my element as soon as the bus went into motion. I contented myself watching the landscape pass my window. I especially enjoyed it when we got into new territory. Today most everything would be new territory, and in way I couldn't imagine. It was starting off as a real adventure. The butterflies in my stomach subsided as I watched the rural scenery rush past.

There was no hint of anything unusual until we came down the road near where Catonsville was said to be located. A bus was already parked on the side of the country road. Our bus rolled to a stop just behind it. All we could see was a sloped embankment and woods on our right. There was nothing but a farmer's field. I was immediately puzzled.

"Where's the school?" became the question of the day as everyone searched the windows for some evidence of humanity.

The questions abounded while we looked all around in our effort to figure out where the devil a track meet could be held out in the sticks. I eyed the farmer's field, suspiciously focusing in on some noncompetitive looking cows grazing near the fence. I disregarded any idea that we might need to pass through the cows, coming to the conclusion the school had to be up above us in the towering trees on the right.

"We were instructed to park on the road," Coach said, as he checked out the marvelous landscape. "Since that bus is already here, we must be at the right place. Let's get our equipment together. I'm sure someone will be along to show us where to go. It can't be far?"

The driver didn't speak at all, throwing open the door to release us. The coach stepped out, standing with his hands on his hips looking up into the trees above the bus. The rest of us filed out to stand on the shoulder of the road behind him. Everyone looked as confused as I was. No one had a suggestion.

"Welcome to the Catonsville Invitational Track Meet," a voice called from the top of the slope. We looked up to see a man in a sports coat clambering down a path not visible from where we stood. He wore a large grin as he offered his greeting once again.

"If you'll follow me I will lead you to the school. It's only a short distance through the forest. You must be Suitland," he said, reading Johnny's shirt. "Again, welcome to the Catonsville Invitational Track Meet."

The pride was evident in his voice as he made sure his official duties were carried out. Even Coach Becker appeared uncertain about what came next, maybe a rabbit in a top hat and glasses.

He climbed the hill, taking the man's helping hand as he stepped over the hump. By this time they were talking like old friends. He handed Coach Becker a packet of papers with all the information we'd need. There was a map locating each venue we'd need access to on the "campus." There were also schedules that gave the time and location of each event along with detailed instructions to explain how the meet would be run and who to see if there were any problems.

Very impressive!

The team followed the two men into the woods. It was even a more perfect day than the day before but it was cool in the woods. I saw no sign of Catonsville High School and I thought of Little Red Riding Hood as the trees blocked out the friendly sky.

After walking for a couple of minutes, there came a cry from one of the more observant boys, who had wandered well off the path, probably to forage for food, "Look! Over there; the track."

That got everyone's attention.

To this point there had been a sense of mystery about the whole affair, but a track meet was still just a track meet, and of course that meant there would be a track. We were prepared for a track. We simply weren't prepared for this particular track. It became more surreal all the time. At first I wasn't sure what I was seeing. I'd never seen anything like it. It was like stepping into someone else's fantasy world.

At first it was almost invisible through the dense trees. As I went toward the direction the voice indicated, I came upon a large imposing concrete bowl set down into the earth below us. If you picture the Rose Bowl with scenery on a far smaller scale, that's what it looked like to me, except the track was reddish, the lines were yellow, and it was surrounded by the forest on every side.

We all moved cautiously closer, looking down, down, down into the bottom of the bowl, and we could finally see the track. It was like a reddish Arizona-like surface with yellow lines marking off the lanes. Concrete bleachers marched up three sides of the bowl, slanting away from the track. One side opening into the woods where the scoreboard was placed down past the far end of the track just beyond the first and second turns.

The vision was met with complete and total silence as we stood in awe. The track meet became a secondary concern. Most of us felt privileged to be there and allowed to experience such a magnificent place. It's not the kind of thing you find in Suitland, Maryland.

There was none of the decoration that dominated the landscape at Northwestern. It would have been far more intimidating than that if not for the beauty of it. It was the perfect setting for a track, being built into the landscape like some work of art colored to enhance the surroundings. It couldn't have been more beautiful.

"Damn!"

"Gee Whiz!"

"Are we in Oz, Toto?"

"We sure aren't in Kansas anymore."

Continuing our walk, there was nothing left to say. There were no jokes and no grab-ass. I think we were all feeling the same thing about then. It was very much like a dream too grand for any of us to have.

By the time the track disappeared into the trees behind us the school was coming into view. The many windows and few doors indicated we were approaching it from the rear. It was quite ordinary, looking very much like the back of a school. The man who had greeted us stopped to give Coach Becker some final instructions. He pointed toward the school and down another trail that led directly back to the track. He shook Coach Becker's hand and headed back toward the road.

"Gentlemen, we are invited to take breakfast in the cafeteria. It seems that Catonsville has gone all out for the participants. I will remind you to stay away from acidic juices like orange or grapefruit. It will be tempting since it is free but don't do something now that you'll regret later. Also, go easy on the milk. They should have fruits, breads, and cereals.

"I will also remind you not to embarrass yourselves. We are guests in a very nice home. Let's treat the school with respect. It is quite generous of our hosts to extend so much hospitality. Let's not make horse's asses of ourselves, and the boys I'm talking to know who they are."

The coach smiled painfully, no doubt picturing the usual suspects who made a science out of being horses' asses.

The coach seemed more concerned with the team's behavior than its performance, but most of the guys were too shocked to do anything embarrassing.

We found our way to the cafeteria just inside the first set of doors. There was a team already seated, eating. Some of them looked up as we passed. There were a few snickers and some pointing in our direction. They appeared to be amused by what they saw. No words were spoken but the cafeteria became somewhat cooler and less inviting for me.

We collected breakfast, choosing a table in the corner. Some of the boys removed their threadbare sweats, sitting on them. This only revealed our ugly faded running uniforms that had been patched and sewn by sympathetic moms. It made even the grab assers self-conscious. Our embarrassment was begun and the track meet was still an hour away.

The team already seated had the name Owings Mill written across their running shirts. Their uniforms made a crinkling sound as they moved, much like Northwestern's. They were brightly colored attention getters. They looked like a million bucks.

We ate self-consciously, looking at each other like caged animals hoping for a way to escape. Another team came in, Randalstown. Their uniforms were even newer and brighter than Owings Mill's. Compared to them, we looked like refugees. Our discomfort level was on the rise as we suddenly lost interest in free food. We sort of shriveled, trying to become invisible, as the well-dressed track team passed our table to get at the food.

"Coach," Johnny spoke for all of us, "Let's go down to the track. Look over the layout. I don't think the guys are very hungry right now."

"Grab some fruit and apple juice, maybe tomato juice and don't throw the trash down. Use the trash receptacles." Coach Becker spoke in a matronly fashion, keeping a tight rein on his boys.

I don't think he sensed our discomfort.

We walked past an incoming team, Dundalk, as we made our way to the door. The snickers turned to laughter as the squad of at least fifty guys turned to watch us exit. We said nothing about the rudeness and luckily none of us turned around. Our embarrassment wouldn't come from our lack of manners or a lack of self-control, although my anger level was rising. I didn't like being humiliated. I liked being laughed at less.

Once again our guys went completely silent. I couldn't figure out why we had come all this way in the first place. Coach Becker had been sent notification of the Invitational track meet months earlier. Being well acquainted with what we faced in our own county, he must have seen this as a welcome change of pace for his boys. The Invitational Committee that received his reply must have seen us as easy pray. Wanting to extend the width and breadth of their track meet, they invited us to attend, having no idea what they were getting, except a team with an ugly resume and no chance of winning this Baltimore County event.

We were totally out of our element and it was going to be a long day. No one desired to bring any more attention to our team than necessary and so peace and quiet reigned supreme. We stayed closer to each other for moral support.

The coach found his team easy to manage. He kept looking around to make sure we hadn't given him the slip as we strolled through the wood. More smiling faces pointed us toward the track. Standing atop the bowl, it was still shaded by the trees that seemed to reach into the clouds. It was a warm day already and the shade would be good. By the time the meet started the track would be bathed in sunshine.

A slight breeze rustled the leaves. There was a clean fresh smell to the air as we stood above the stadium, looking into the bowl for a few minutes. We took the first available concrete stairway, descending into the gladiatorial arena. The first thing I noticed was a long row of empty tables sitting on the infield along the front stretch before you reached the finish line. A huge banner was attached to the front of them and waved gently in the morning air to bid welcome to all who entered there.

WELCOME TO CATONSVILLE INVITATIONAL TRACK MEET.

One at a time we stepped off the last step and onto the track. My mouth dropped open after becoming aware of its texture. It immediately added spring to my step. I thought the selection of colors were odd. The track was a cross between deep red and dark brown. It was not just colorful but pretty, and pretty odd. I'd never seen anything to compare it to.

Twenty-five star struck boys meandered on the track at the foot of the stairs. Some hopped, some leaped, and some bounced as we examined the track as Coach Becker waited patiently to get our attention. How long does it take to look at a track anyway?

"Gentlemen, they've asked that we use only the needle spikes they have provided for us. Our regular spikes would ruin this surface. Everyone change your spikes before putting your running shoes on. Do it right away so we don't forget. I have a wrench in my bag. Only use your spikes during competition. Keep your athletic shoes on at all other times."

"How about barefoot?" Johnny asked.

"Barefoot is fine, Johnny, if you've washed your feet this month," Coach quipped as we chuckled uneasy at the humor.

"They must figure we don't run on a fancy track at home!" Paul Gorely said, not taking his eyes off of it.

"They know our track is cinder," Coach answered.

I jumped up and down and up and down to test the spring in the material under my feet. It was amazing. I'd never had more spring in my step and I couldn't wait to run.

I had come to dread competition because of how combative we'd become afterward, but I wanted to try this track on. For the first time it wasn't about baton exchanges, technique, and instruction.

It was about speed.

I noticed Whitey walking away from the group, fascinated by something he had focused on in the distance. I followed him as he walked to the middle of the front stretch before stopping. He placed his hands on his hips as he stared. He turned sideways so he was facing the bleachers and he looked in both directions. First he looked back at where the team was gathered, his eyes working their way back up the track as he turned to follow the macadam surface that went straight off toward the woods where it ended near the scoreboard.

Just when I saw what he saw, he said softly, "Straight away two hundred. Awesome!"

Where a normal track curved around at the first turn, this track had an extension on the straightaway that allowed the runners to continue running in a straight line for the entire 200-meter race. On the other tracks we'd visited so far the 200 was run from between the third and fourth turn, around the corner and up the front stretch to the finish line. This was some departure and an impressive sight to see, especially in red.

This would be Whitey's first straightaway 200 race and he, too, was ready to run. He had no fear of the environment. Whitey was a competitor and he'd compete anywhere a challenge took him.

"You're standing on the longest stretch of track I've ever seen," Whitey told me."

"Will it make a difference in your race, Whitey?"

"Yeah! Without the turn it's a faster race. On this surface, I can't wait."

The team slowly filtered up the track, settling into the bleachers at the far end, past the finish line but the bleachers ended before the first turn, so the 200 race would finish well beyond where we sat.

Once we were arranging ourselves in the corner of the bleachers, boys came to report the field events' pits were foam rubber, and their runways were similar to the track. It came to me that Northwestern was the Cadillac of schools and Catonsville was the Rolls Royce. I was left to wonder what we had gotten ourselves into.

The coach was perfectly relaxed as he went about his usual business of preparing us for the coming events. He had no difficulty getting and keeping our attention as the entire team sat side by side. We were usually spread all over the place, but I had no urge to separate myself and most of the team seemed to feel as I felt.

We were in enemy territory and a long way from home.

I doubt Coach Becker would have let his boys know if he thought he had bitten off more than we could chew. He had accepted an invitation to a track meet he'd probably never even heard of before. We were there and we were going to run. If he felt the team's discomfort at our appearance he never let it show. He was his usual enthusiastic self.

His attitude was that we were there to run track and not to model uniforms, so if he sensed our discomfort, he didn't say anything. It was still obvious to us that each team arriving looked better than the last. We were the only team in hand me down uniforms, faded and stretched out of shape. We spent a lot of time putting on and taking off our sweats, not liking either look very much. Without a Fairmount Heights or Bladensburg to deflect some of the attention away from us, we were the only standouts at Catonsville.

"Good morning ladies and gentlemen." The loud speaker broke the silence, echoing through the concrete and up through the treetops. "Welcome to the Catonsville Invitational Track & Field Meet. The first events will start promptly at eleven o'clock. Thank you."

Spectators filed in through all the available entrances, seating themselves around the stadium in the spaces in-between where the teams sat, sitting closest to the team they had come to support. There were four teams sitting on the front stretch with us. Catonsville had a spot marked out in the infield where the host's spot was away from any and all distractions.

We were left isolated in our little corner, until all available spaces were filled, and then people started sitting closer to us, but keeping a respectful distance. Some seemed friendly and spoke to us, asking where we were from. They smiled and seemed happy to be there with us.

I can't say I was all that happy to be there with them right then. I was becoming more nervous, unaccustomed to crowds. The team was quiet and orderly, uncharacteristically so. No one gave up anything that was on their mind.

It was time.


Send Rick an email at [email protected]

On to Chapter Eight

Back to Chapter Six

Chapter Index

Rick Beck Home Page

"On Winning Book One" Copyright © 2024 OLYMPIA50. All rights reserved.
    This work may not be duplicated in any form (physical, electronic, audio, or otherwise) without the author's written permission. All applicable copyright laws apply. All individuals depicted are fictional with any resemblance to real persons being purely coincidental.

Home Page | Authors | Stories by the Writer Suggested Reading | Suggested Viewing | Links Privacy Policy | Terms of Service Send a Comment All Site Content © 2003 - 2024 Tarheel Writer unless otherwise noted Layout © 2003 - 2024 Tarheel Writer