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I had this crazy dream where I found a remote control that let me alter the very fabric of time and space. I could have used it to rob banks, bang several of my favorite pornstars at the same time, or really do whatever I wanted.
Jack was a normal boy with a special talent.
Then one day he wasn't so normal anymore. In fact, he wasn't even a boy!
I - A Good Day at the Track 2. II - Ch V - New Girl in School 6. A Girl, or Not to Be A Girl? IX - You're a Doll, Baby! Right on schedule. One lap down, three to go. Tilden was just where I wanted him, two strides in front of me.
Already we had broken away from the rest of field. But in the mile, you don't want to wait too long to make your move. My name's Jack Lind.
I'm a year old high-school senior. I guess you could consider me a pretty ordinary guy, except for one thing: I eat, breathe and sleep track and field. My specialty is the mile run and today I'm trying to do something no high school boy has done in 34 years: run a sub 4-minute mile. Coach Bradford and I had been plotting this for months. I live in Milford, a quiet little farm town in upstate New York — about halfway between Binghamton and Syracuse. I'd been running cross country and track for my school since the 7th grade, but only in the last couple of seasons had my times improved to the point where a lot of people were starting to take notice.
I finished last year with a personal best of for the mile — which had led to a third place performance at the state championships. Over the summer and through the fall cross-country season, my training had become more intense than ever. But what had really made a difference was finally getting my growth spurt.
In less than a year I had gained 3 inches in height and my stamina had improved tremendously as well. Tilden and I passed our coaches to complete the second lap. He was still two strides in front and I was more than content to draft off him for a little longer.
Two more laps to go. We had completed the half-mile in just over two minutes, so my goal was still in sight.
Ten days ago, I had run a I was racing on a cinder track, with no competition to speak of. I'm not trying to be arrogant; it's just that in the local athletic district of which Milford was a part, I was 30 seconds faster than anyone else. But it was that performance that had convinced Coach Bradford the time was ripe for my attempt at the 4-minute mile.
The first major invitational of the year was Cortland, a larger college town about an hour's drive away. More than 30 schools would be competing. Unlike any of the schools in my district, Cortland boasted a high-performance synthetic track, which would provide a superb surface for a fast time. Also, the stadium was equipped with electronic timing, which was a must for any record to be valid.
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Stopwatches were not acceptable for the national books. Plus, Tilden would be there. Kevin Tilden was the fastest high-school miler in New York. He had won the race for the state title last year, the one where I finished third. He had already improved his personal best of earlier this season, which along with my was enough to raise eyebrows of track fans across the country. Quite a of people were looking forward to this match up.
Tilden and me most of all. It's very hard for track athletes, particularly middle and long distance runners to achieve their best times unless there is strong competition. Both Tilden and I wanted to use this meet, and each other, to reach new levels of excellence. My coach and I, however, were keeping our plans for the 4-minute barrier to ourselves. Halfway through the third lap now. I could sense Tilden was slowing a bit — the pace had been torrid.
The third lap is the most critical in a mile run. Races were often won or lost during that meter stretch, even though the fans might not realize it.
I could accept the slowing pace, and then I could set up a tactical run from here to the end - hanging behind Tilden until the final homestretch, then 'kicking' it on in. If I settled for that, I might win the race — but I would not break any records.
I had to maintain this speed if I wanted to get below four minutes. That meant I would have to move past Tilden now. So I did. This was not a championship competition, just a mid-season invitational.
There was no title on the line. But I really wanted that time! I shifted to a higher gear, ran past Tilden, and moved quickly back to the rail as soon as I was legally ahead you aren't allowed to cut off other runners when you pass — you need at least two steps. Tilden was now behind me, which meant he could draft off of me, allowing me to force a path through the air for him. It sounds silly, but drafting is a common technique in many sports, from speed skating to cycling. However, if I could get far enough ahead, then he wouldn't gain any advantage. The three-lap time — That meant I would have to run a second quarter for the last lap to break the barrier.
My legs were feeling a little burn, but my lungs were strong, and I concentrated on maintaining a steady stride. Behind me, I could sense Tilden fading as I picked up the speed. In Jim Ryun, America's greatest miler, ran a as Tg storytime for a girl high-school senior in Kansas.
Ryun went on to break the world record for the mile with a and also earned an Olympic silver medal in In andtwo other high-school athletes broke 4 minutes with times of — Tim Danielson and the legendary Marty Liquori. Since then, no high-school boy in the United States had run the mile in under 4 minutes, let alone approached Ryun's record of A stretch of more than 30 years.
I was determined beat that streak. Two hundred meters to go. Tilden had fallen far back, but there were several hundred fans and even some press making a lot of noise, encouraging me. My lungs were burning now and I had to focus on keeping my pace smooth. Distance running is very psychological. Often, the race is won not by the fastest, but the strongest, the one who can best master his pain when every nerve in his body is crying for relief.
Just like mine were now. One hundred meters to go. God, it hurt! But everyone was screaming for me, Coach Bradford loudest of all. Believe me, it makes a difference to have that support. I gritted my teeth, swallowed down my stomach, and plunged the final steps over the line.