Setting spikes...

Barely two weeks after basketball season and I found myself setting spikes in preparation for the first track meet, which is scheduled for this Tuesday, one day after the first softball game of the season. Amazingly, Ann’s track shoes still fit, but I found that last year’s spikes were ground down or snapped off, most of them gone with dried mud packed into the empty holes. Apparently this is normal. I wonder where they went as I don’t recall seeing any used-up spikes littering the ground.

A touch of hot water and a few toothpicks later, I had re-spiked the track shoes with the “quarter-inch needles” that the guy at the sporting goods store advised me to buy. I found it fascinating that each pack of spikes came with its own sturdy wrench that allowed me to tighten each spike like a bolt. I wielded the wrench carefully to avoid pricking myself on the (what would you expect?) needle-sharp points.

The folks at the local sporting goods store have come to know us well and they smile at Ann and offer kudos when she comes in the door, probably thinking of their fat commissions. True to form, the replacement spikes weren’t our only purchase, coming along with a $50 pair of black Nike wind pants to replace the first, cheap pair that I bought at Wal-Mart. Ann crashed while wearing those during a softball practice on a cool day, tearing a gaping hole in the pants and ripping the hide off her knee.

All you really have to have to play roundball is a good pair of shoes and sturdy socks. However, as I am learning from the girl who has yet to place second in any race she has run, each sport has its own outfitting requirements. I have grasped the need for spikes but I wasn’t sure about the “sliders” that got piled on the heap of apparently important stuff that ended up on the counter at the sporting goods store. My inquiries determined that sliders are padded shorts that look to me like nothing less than long men’s underwear with “butt enhancements” to be worn underneath your softball shorts, a precaution against taking a base on your ass.

Well, damn! I played softball. And I’ve ripped plenty of hide off my ass. I guess these kids are more privileged. Those “sliders” cost me ten bucks and they were reportedly on sale!

But this is Oklahoma where every Choctaw, Chickasaw and Cherokee compares his or her competition in sports with the outcome of their life. Every school kid is delightedly aware that the reigning Heisman Trophy winner is a Cherokee and the likely NCAA women’s basketball player of the year will be our own Courtney Paris, a black woman with a clear touch of Native. When I attended parent-teacher conference a few weeks ago, I had to keep re-directing the teachers to talk about Ann’s studies. I sounded really knowledgeable about English and even Technology class and Science. And I can talk basketball with the best of them. But I couldn’t address the constant questions about track.

The questions come at school, at home and lots of places in between. Will the girl who won every race be able to repeat? Or has the muscle and growth acquired during basketball season acted as nature will to direct Ann to the area where her abilities are best exercised? The coach says she remains a born hurdler but Ann says she hates to run.

And that dichotomy highlights their difference. The coach wants Ann to run both the 100 and 300 meter hurdles. Granted, she has never failed to place first in either event. But she only wants to run the 100 meter, believing that is her best chance at repeating gold. She will also jump the basic long jump and run the 200 meter flat-out run, but she adamantly draws the line at the 300 meter hurdles.

I have left that decision to Ann and her coach, telling Ann only that I want to see her hurdle. I can understand why she hates the 300. After lunch every day, when the other girls jog half-heartedly to one distant landmark after another to sharpen their skills (Alex doesn’t have a track, by the way. We simply block off a stretch of town street so the kids can run on pavement like the asphalt tracks at other schools), Ann is required to run a mile (marked on a side street) along which hurdles are set at regular intervals. She gets one and a half minutes to rest after each stretch of hurdles before starting the next one. She said she sees black spots in front of her eyes after hurdling practice, which is followed by another mile (at least) of endurance practice. I know that success is never easy.

Nevertheless, Ann is in charge of her own destiny in this area. I am only responsible for paying for the equipment, setting the spikes, tending the hurts, watching the results, helping her plot strategy and whipping up the gravy and pork chops that add to the 3000 calories that a 14 year-old who runs three miles each day must consume to provide the fuel for each effort.

That said, Ann knows that anything worth doing is worth doing at 110%. So, we shall see how it all plays out. It is near to spring time in Oklahoma and I am happy to be moving from the gym onto the barely budding grass. Knowing my kid, I expect that the sights and smells of the season’s first meet may have unexpected results. My best friend bets that Ann will run the 300 meter hurdles after all…

If nothing else, her shoes are ready….