A Spooktacular Finish

Liminal Spaces, Issue 3, Volume 1

Future Thief: Episode Number 83

I played varsity baseball when I was a high school senior. It was one of the few activities that brought me joy during tumultuous years, and a sport in which I possessed moderate talent. We weren’t in a highly ranked division, or recognized statewide, but we did well enough to experience success. One of my greatest triumphs occurred that year, a dreamy slice of Americana that invades every young boy’s fantasies. It’s that last minute basket at the buzzer, the Hail Mary touchdown pass, a perfectly placed penalty shot or hitting home the game winning run. That last one, it was mine.

The memory runs vividly through my mind on certain days, a win or lose scenario in which I managed to overcome the odds. I remember the crack of the bat, rounding first base and stopping at second, embracing the cheers of our small, but significant audience of parents and friends. My father was on the sidelines. I looked over and watched him laugh and high-five my best friend’s dad. The two of them were elated, a rare moment when I witnessed a visibly proud gesture from Dad. I basked in his glowing, comfortable warmth on the drive home.

Those cheers would eventually drown out into the background and the crowd of onlookers would fade away, but the powerful memory of watching a long smile creep across my father’s face, four years after my mom’s death, will live on forever. Accomplishments, paired with the encouragement and excitement of our closest loved ones have the ability to propel us to new heights. They give us perpetual drive and mental stamina. I lived, and still do live off that singular memory, one of only a few that stick with me crystal clear as my youth fades into a fog.

I had another chance to perform a similar feat before I graduated and went on to plant seeds of independence in college. We entered the playoffs, a single elimination tournament, and our first game was a matchup against a difficult rival. The odds were stacked against us in the last inning of the game, and I approached for my final at bat. We were down by two runs. With one man on base, I had the opportunity to tie the game. I struck out, unceremoniously ending that season for the entire team and ending my baseball exploits.

These are polar extremes, a reminder that victory or defeat is only one swing away. We can’t live on those glories forever, or even expect them to arrive when we need them most, although mine certainly did. For many of us a great chasm first needs to be crossed, a walk across a rickety bridge of doubt, the drop leading to crocodile infested waters. We’re excited when we arrive safe on the other side, but let’s not forget the years, even lifetimes, it can take to make it the distance.

What a Wicked Run

I shared before that this past year I’ve been working up to another victory of sorts, a personal one, duplicitous in its goal. I wanted to lose weight and run a 10k, pushing myself into a realm unmarked by pinned accomplishments, instead choosing an ongoing lifestyle change as a focus. Those game winners are exceptional, and while we should celebrate their rare occurrence, like an endangered animal wandering into our midst, the greatest victories are hard fought in the space between. This long and winding road is not often lined with the adulation of our peers, cheers in the distance, or a once-and-forever finish line.

With regard to our 10k, it was lined with pumpkins, skeletons, corpses and a stellar rendition of Jack Sparrow. There was a finish line, however, my crossing it remains a study of dogged training and perseverance, far from first place. I knew I could and would run it because everything up until then told me it was possible. We chose… okay, I chose, the Halloween themed run, in order to remove any heir of seriousness or competition. I did not want to win. I wanted to experience it all, the children in costume, as well as the adults, a spirited affair as a celebratory act reminding us of our 22 years married.

The week leading up to the race was beautiful, unseasonably warm and a welcome change to October’s blustery days and chilly nights. The forecast tormented us by predicting rain and cold for our Sunday morning start, counter to the sunshine and blue skies overhead. It scared away the fair weather runners, leaving open nearly 50 slots unfilled, or maybe filled by the unseen ghosts howling through the old birch and maple trees. Those rains did come late into Saturday evening, petering out by early morning, which allowed us to contend only with a slight chill and each other.

While our pace matched at a few mile markers, I found a groove and pulled ahead. Exhausted in the final mile, I slowed, looking back to discover my wife, Stephanie, gaining ground. She soon matched my efforts and we finished together. I’m not surprised by her tenacity, or her ability to track me down, and if she chose, to pass me with little effort. We accepted our participation medals, made our way toward the cider, donuts and candy, and tried to rest before the award’s ceremony. That’s when she informed me that little more than a mile into the run, she felt a sharp pain in her foot.

My wife ran nearly 5 miles with a broken second metatarsal, as indicated by the swelling in her foot and an x-ray taken the following day. She placed first in her age group. She will now wear a boot for the next 4-6 weeks, a reminder that some victories come at a cost. I placed third in my age group, a satisfying enough result. It’s a distinction that’s humbling, with a spooky plastic trophy to prove I’m not always going to win, but that I can still choose to run. Some years we’ll cross the finish line together, and other years one of us will lag behind, or break a bone or win our age group… or a respectable third place.

Cider and donuts… the only reason to run a 10k.

2023 Remembered

This is my last post for 2023. I’m taking a much needed break from Substack, trying (and probably failing) to write a novel in the meantime, and preparing for contributions here on Future Thief next year. I’ll be milling around Notes, reading your fantastic fiction and commenting when I can. I appreciate all of your support, and I’m excited to meet you in that space between your next victory.