I probably should’ve found a ride that day to my first day at Cross Country practice, admittedly, a demented sport, but really I had no choice.  Both parents were gone to work of course, and since we lived out in the country, I didn’t have any friends available with parents to drive us. Truth is, I wouldn’t have asked them anyway unless I was on my death bed.  Turns out that bed could’ve been close at hand on that drippy ninety degree summer afternoon.

So I rode my bicycle to my first high school cross country practice. It was a 10 speed Schwinn and I thought I was pretty cool. At the age of fifteen, I felt invincible, full of energy and potential.  I’m pretty sure I had no idea what a bicycle helmet was back then, probably because they were rare, and if I saw a person with one, I’m sure my friends and I would chuckle because they were funny looking.

It was about eight miles to the high school cross – country practice facility – essentially a long, rolling meadow in farm country behind the high school.  I had my running shorts and a T – shirt tied in a bag on my front handle bars.  Never thought about bringing a water bottle, although back then, I’m not sure we had them in their present convenient form. After 4 miles of smooth sailing, I hit the busy overpass over the 4 lane Interstate highway below, riding next to the guardrail.  The cars swooshed by, probably going as fast as they could to get into town, never slowing down for a bike rider.  Unfortunately, I didn’t see the sewer drainage grate on the side of the highway, and my skinny tires caught inside the grooves, the bike stopped suddenly, and I did a double flip over the handlebars, landing on the pavement as the cars raced by and no one stopped.  I don’t remember what part of my body hit first, or how long I was laying there, or whether I briefly lost consciousness, but I did feel the blood running down my forehead and my leg was gashed.  I must’ve gotten up pretty quickly, brushed myself off, embarrassed that I fell and got back on my still functioning bike to complete the remaining 4 miles in the heat.  Clearly, I thought, I was damn lucky I didn’t fly off to the left onto oncoming traffic and get run over on my first day of Cross – Country practice.

My life could’ve ended right there during that split second on the highway before cross – country practice. Thing is, at this young age, I had narrowly missed death several times before.

When I arrived, Coach said, “Carson, what the hell happened?”

“Fell off my bike.”  I know I didn’t know what a subdural hematoma of the brain was back then, and who knows about my coach, but the day went on and obviously I suffered no neurologic symptoms that would keep me from practicing.

He put a band aid of some type on my forehead and a dressing on my right leg then said, “Time for practice boys!  We do this at 1pm in the summer to show you guys that the heat is the best time to run and toughen you up.”  That was the second piece of ‘wisdom’ I learned that day, although due to my respect for elders, who was I to question the accuracy of his statement?

The senior runners initially ignored me because I was a rookie I guess, or maybe because my bandages produced a scary image. But that didn’t apply to Charlie, the no.2 senior runner. With the practice only half complete, I stopped to get a water break and Charlie said, “Carson, be careful with the water.  If you drink too much water it’ll dilute your cells and make you weak like a noodle.”

I briefly thought about that strange piece of advice from an accomplished runner, then immediately dismissed it and quaffed some more into my prickly cactus mouth. Survival instinct always takes precedence over shaky advice from an experienced runner.

Our team was believed to be good enough to go to state that year, but after a couple wins, Charlie was shot by his father at home, allegedly with a shotgun.  He survived, but we never saw him again.  Our team was stunned by that tragic news but due to Charlie’s unfortunate situation, I had the sudden responsibility of being no. 2 man on the team as a sophomore, and the remaining upperclassmen I replaced, soon rallied to support me. Without Charlie, our hopes for state as a team vanished.

Looking back, it seems I learned a lot about life that first practice, summer training and the whole season. First, I learned that I once again escaped possible death and was given another opportunity to enjoy life.  Second, I learned that tragedy may befall other talented individuals who were not as lucky as I was, and finally, I learned that no matter how inexperienced, if responsibility is placed on your shoulders, you must perform for the team.

I would return the next year as the no. 1 runner on the team. What else could possibly happen?

SRC