Starting Position

Chapter 2

Students were gathered around the track field the following afternoon. I recognized most of them from both last year on the CGC track team, but some were new, most likely to be entering freshman. Having spotted a copper-haired girl who looked as though she wished to be anywhere else, I sauntered over.

"You look even less enthusiastic than last year," I said, amid the chattering collection of people donned in athletic clothing.

Julia shot me a fractious look, folded her arms over her chest, and said, "I really hate track."

"Then why even tryout?" I asked.

"C'mon, Elliot. You know why. My parents are certifiably psychotic, and they think that" – Julia threw both hands in the air and formed air quotes – "if I didn't have some outlet, I'd become a reckless substance abuser and fritter my life away." She then stole a quick glance in my direction. "And they're probably right."

I raised an eyebrow. Julia and I had been introduced at the start of track season last year. We bonded immediately as she appeared to be the only other member who established a similar love/hate relationship with track like I did.

Once last year, I had given her a ride home and was invited to stay for dinner by her parents. The dinner, while delicious, quickly turned sour as her parents began an interrogation on the events of her day. It became clear they did not trust her, and I wondered what had happened in her past to warrant their behavior. My memory of the dinner was that it unfolded much like an episode of an investigative drama. 

I wasn't one to pry into someone's personal life, but as time went on, I did become curious about Julia's past. It took some time, but with tidbits of information lent here and there, I was able to learn she had had a stint in rehab a couple years ago to address a drinking problem. Regardless of everything, Julia has been a constant for me during track season.

The track team had two coaches: Coach Rodriguez and Coach Nelson. Rodriguez was the good cop; he was the friendliest of the two and was chatting merrily to a group huddled around him. Nelson, the bad cop, was much stricter; he was standing on the field sideline, watching its entirety as if inspecting this year's prospects. I nearly laughed at the thought, because I knew as well as Nelson the track team was lacking in numbers, and whatever talent showed up would be placed on the team.

Both coaches let me race my event, the five-thousand meter, with little fuss. I had been participating in long distance races since high school and, while I still raced at a decent speed, my times were a far cry from what they had been in high school. But I wasn't losing sleep over this. Not on the nights I was able to sleep, anyway.

"Alright, alright, everyone." Coach Rodriguez's clear voice instantly quieted the idle prattle. "Welcome to another year of Columbia Gorge Track!" A few hands clapped in applause, but his enthusiasm was ultimately left unmatched. "For those of you who are returning this year, thank you. For those of you who are new, thank you. It's not a big secret our track team has been – uh – slightly understaffed, if you will, and looking around it's fair to say we will need each and every one of you. So, show up tomorrow too, please."

A hushed laugh circulated the field. Now, even those with doubts about making the team could be rest assured.

"That doesn't mean you can skid by during tryouts," the huskier voice of Rodriguez's counterpart said. "Just because the team is small doesn't give you permission to not take it seriously. We'll be watching and judging accordingly. I expect nothing less than a hundred percent effort from every single one of you."