The Stare. Final Chapter

Michael tears over the ground…A whirlwind of power and speed. By the time he reaches the first wall, he is so far in front, he has already won, it takes us a second to realise this, then we start screaming.

We have done badly in the field events (10th by my secret calculations) and there is no hiding it. The kids know what is going on. We had practised really hard, we had all improved, but this competition is on a different level, the other teams out-stripped us. I was trying to gee everyone up, keep them positive, but the atmosphere is gloomy, heads are dropping.

In a flash, Michael flips the momentum. We are cheering like crazy, out of relief, out of hope. I try, briefly, to keep us disciplined, but quickly give up and let them go to town. We are howling at Michael, punching the air, willing him on with every sinew.

And he is flying, those bright white eyes, running for his life, faster than I’ve ever seen him run. The rubber on his soles is screeching, he pounds the return boards so hard that they boom over the cheering. He knows it is not enough to win, he has to win by as far as he can. Zero showboating, just focusing straight ahead and pulling away with every step.

He passes the baton seamlessly over to Lemar, himself an excellent runner, extremely intelligent, but can be a real handful, and a liability. Often frustrated with his own teammates, prone to arguments and tempers. Nearly didn’t make the team, but has buckled down since the last tournament and cemented his place. He continues as Michael has started, inspired, and finishes way out in front.

Michael and Lemar walk back to the team as heroes. Fist bumps and back slaps. Lemar is lapping it up. Michael is back to being the model captain,10ft tall, as if there were ever any doubt.

Michael has lifted, not just himself, but the entire team, single-handedly. We are all glowing. Every team member feeds off the positivity by lifting their own game. We win everything. By miles. It is getting embarrassing. Against protocol, the organisers feel obliged to promote us to heat A, to face the medal contenders. It makes no difference to the result. We are lining up to the races having already won.

There are too many brilliant performances to mention. Officials are coming up to me and demanding I control my team. I give a sincere apology, and completely ignore them. The other teams can keep their pristine sports grounds, and fancy equipment, and we’ll keep screaming.

Every kid on the team is a hero in their own right. Tia is actually my ‘Player of the Match’, with five older brothers (remember Tyler?), she has anger issues, trust issues, and a million issues. But when she lets you in she has a heart of gold, and that fire in her belly has produced a fierce javelin throw and a furious Paarlauf (the endurance-based relay race), absolutely destroying her opposition.

At the end of the competition, we have won all seven Relay events easily, but I don’t know how well we have done overall. If the top three teams in the Field events have finished in the top six in the Relays, they will maintain their medals. We have finished tenth in Field and first in the Relays, is it enough? We stand quietly as they announce the results:

“In 12th place…”

Polite clap.

“In 11th place…”

Polite clap.

We are into the top ten, they still haven’t called our name. With every position announced, it gets more exciting, we are all crossing our fingers (and legs, lots of the team need a pee. I placed an emphasis on hydration).

“In 5th place…”

Don’t be us, don’t be us…It’s not us.

“In 4th place…” 

This is the big one. Please don’t be us…It’s not us. We completely lose our shit. Again. Worse than when Michael stormed away in the first race. I do try and calm the team down this time. I know it’s discourteous to the team in fourth for us to be cheering. But there’s nothing I can do. The kids are jumping up and down and around so much that I can’t even hear the announcer call our names for the bronze.

We burst out into the sunshine. On the walk from Elephant & Castle station to Invicta school, the kids are laughing and singing a song I’d taught them;

We are the champions, my friends
And we’ll keep on fighting ’til the end
No time for LOSERS (they take particular delight in emphasising ‘losers’)
Cos we are the champions of the world

I look at my team as they sing their hearts out. I steal a glance at Michael. I look for some sign that he knows what he has done, that, in large part, this is all down to him. He conquered his own fears, and the team followed. I would love to tell you he has a serene, knowing look on his face. A calm sense of satisfaction and awareness of what he has achieved. But Michael is an 11 year old boy, and he’s acting like one. Laughing and singing along, taking the medal off his neck and shoving it in the faces of the passers-by.

As I try not to laugh, I find myself having to hold back a wave of emotion. I want to hug each and every one of them, I want to cry. For three years I’ve known these kids, I have spent more time with them than some of their own parents. I’ve taken them here, but they’ve taken me here. I know this is the end of the road for us. We will all be moving on from Invicta School soon. My heart is bursting with pride, and as we walk down the magnificent Old Kent Road, I am the happiest I’ve ever been. This is the best day of my life. Will I ever have a day this good again?

Christmas Eve, 2019. I walk into a ToolStation store, to get a present for my dad. A man behind the counter recognises me as soon as I walk in. “Are you Russell?”

His name is Amon, he is 26, well over 6ft tall and he was a kid in Invicta school. Of course I remember him. He was part of that Year 3 class, one of ones that always turned up. We have a quick chat, I say I’m in a rush, but really, I’m trying to look cool. I ask him if he still sees anyone from Invicta School. He tells me he goes running sometimes with his friends, Michael and Robbie.

Amon tells me they still talk about me. And that Michael and Robbie are still ridiculously fast.

It floors me. Those two names. That they still remember me, 16 years later. I have a million questions. I ask none of them.

He will tell them I said Hi. They will come and watch me run London Marathon 2020.

I trip and stumble out of the shop, just as cool as he remembers, I’m sure. I get into the car with my wife and kids, still in shock. My mind is going haywire. Forgotten memories, flooding back, one after the other. I write a little bit about the meeting with Amon in my blog, but my mind gets swept back to that time, that era. And the best day in my life.

Yes, it still is.

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