“I wish your mother was alive to see this,” Brian said. His wife had been born in Saskatchewan and the colours of the Roughriders would appear anywhere in the world whenever someone from that province was in competition. “I’m sure she’d be proud to see someone from Saskatchewan with a good chance of winning a medal in the Olympics. There’s been a lot of guys who’ve won a gold medal in winter sports like hockey, but a gold medal in golf would be an unexpected bonus.”
Eric remembered how passionate his mother had been about Saskatchewan. “Do you think Mom accomplished all of her goals in life before she passed away?” Eric was hoping his father would throw him another clue about their legacy.
“I don’t think anyone ever accomplishes all of their goals,” Brian said. He thought briefly before continuing. “I think she accomplished the most important ones. She set aside some money to help you and your brother with your education. You’ve now graduated and Chip should get his degree from Ohio State next year. She loved to travel, so I’m sure she would have wanted to see a bit more of the world, but she did get to see Australia and I know that was on her bucket list.”
Brian and Eric followed the bearded golfer from Saskatchewan for the rest of his round and were pleased to see that he was in contention to win a medal. “What’s with all of the guys sporting beards?” Eric asked when he noticed several of his fans in the crowd with them as well.
Brian chuckled. “I think that started a few years ago in the Fedex Cup. You know how hockey players grow beards during the NHL playoffs, right? Well since the Fedex Cup is sort of like the playoffs for golf, he started growing a beard and it sort of took off from there.”
When they reached the last hole, the crowd surrounding the green was enormous, too large for Brian and Eric to get anywhere close to it. The Canadian had missed a few makeable putts over the last few holes, but so had many of the other competitors. This was the Olympics, not the typical PGA event, and the pressure was affecting them all.
Unfortunately, the Canadian had hit his approach shot into the bunker beside the green and would have to get up-and-down to have any shot at a medal. “Just hit it close,” Brian whispered to himself as he watched.
The crowd stood up as he hit the shot so Brian couldn’t even see the result. But the roar of the crowd left no doubt as to what had happened. It had gone in. Canada had won a medal in golf.
*** Chapter 10 ***
The next day, Brian and Eric headed off to the Olympic pool to see some of the swimming events. Canada wasn’t really expected to be in contention for a medal in any of the these events, but it was an event that Eric wanted to see anyway.
Their seats were situated just behind a large contingent of fans from Australia. The Australians had a lot of potential medal winners on their team and their fans were being particularly boisterous about making sure everyone in the building knew that fact. It seemed a lot of the races came down to the final few strokes to decide whether an Australian or an American would win the gold medal. Sure enough, the women’s 4x100 freestyle relay came right down to the finish and it was too close to determine who had won. When the results flashed on the screen showing Australia had won the gold medal, the Australian fans sitting in front of Brian and Eric rose from their seats and started singing.
“Ausie, Ausie, Ausie,” yelled one of the fans leading the cheer.
“Oi, Oi, Oi,” yelled the rest of the fans in response.
“Ausie, Ausie, Ausie – Oi, Oi, Oi,” they repeated.
“Ausie, Oi – Ausie, Oi”.
“Ausie, Ausie, Ausie – Oi, Oi, Oi”.
The crowd broke into applause when the Australian fans were shown on the big-screen.
“I don’t think we’re going to be able to watch any more swimming events today,” Brian said as he looked at his watch. “We’ve got to get going if we’re going to make it to the stadium in time to watch Chip’s heat in the 5,000 metres.” Eric was hoping to be able to stay to see the men’s 4x100 medley relay event, but agreed that it would be cutting things too close.
Sure enough, it took them longer than expected to make it to the Olympic track and they were still scurrying to their seats when the gun fired to signal the start of the first heat of the Olympic 5,000 metre event. Since Chip was going to be racing in the second heat, they still had about forty-five minutes until his race.
As they watched the first heat, they could see many of the same competitors that they had seen in the 10,000 metre event. The leaders consisted of Michael Porter from the U.S., two of the Ethiopian runners and one of the competitors from Kenya, with the rest of the runners grouped in a pack about ten metres behind. As the bell rang for the final lap, the race turned into a sprint to the finish line. And once again, Michael couldn’t match the speed of the other runners down the stretch.
“Their times don’t look that fast,” Eric said. The top five finishers in each heat automatically qualified for the finals, plus the next best five times from either heat.
“Hopefully Chip can finish in the top five, so he doesn’t have to worry about the times,” Brian said.
When the next heat started, Chip immediately placed himself as part of the lead group. The main pack of runners was about five metres back with, as usual, the runner from Great Britain trailing the field. “I hope Chip’s not starting out too fast,” Brian said. “He doesn’t want to burn himself out early in the race.”
“He probably doesn’t want to get boxed in like he did in the last race,” Eric said.
That’s exactly what Chip was thinking down on the track. He was currently in second place, just off the right shoulder of the Kenyan runner who was in the lead. He had decided before the race he was going to follow whoever took the lead at any point in the race. Sure enough, the Brazilian runner tried to break away from the lead group and Chip stayed half a step behind him. With two laps remaining, Chip could feel his lungs and his legs starting to burn. He had been determined not to leave anything in the tank for this race, but he was starting to feel like he was running on fumes at this point. When they started the final sprint in the last five hundred metres, Chip realized he was in trouble as he had nothing left to give. Neither did the Brazilian runner. The first to pass them was the runner from Great Britain but a few more passed by the time they reached the finish line. Chip looked up at the big screen and saw that he had finished eighth in his heat.
“Did he make it?” Eric asked his dad.
“I’m not sure,” Brian said. “It seemed like their times were faster than the first heat, but I don’t know.”
They held their breath waiting for the results to be displayed indicating who had qualified for the finals. It was only a few seconds but it seemed like an eternity until the qualifying list appeared on the screen. It showed a large “Q” beside the names of the first five runners in each heat and a small “q” beside the names of the next best five times. They were relieved to see a small “q” beside Chip’s name meaning he had qualified for the finals. There was a loud roar from the crowd when they saw that the Brazilian runner had also made it through.
Down on the track, Chip was relieved to see that he had qualified for the finals, but he was also angry with himself for his strategy during the race. When he went into the change room, he was surprised to see Michael still there. “Did you make it?” Michael asked him.
“Barely,” Chip answered. “I didn’t run a very smart race.” Chip already knew that Michael had qualified for the final as he had finished fourth in his heat.
“I can’t match their speed down the stretch,” Michael said, “and the pace in our heat was pretty slow. I don’t know how I’m going to beat them in the final.”
* * *
Two days later Chip and Michael were back at the small track used for training preparing for the finals to be held the next day. “Coach McDonald said he wants to talk to you,” Michael said as they were doing their stretches.
The coach was sitting on a bench by himself, well away from any of the
competitors. “How are you feeling?” the coach asked when Chip sat down beside him.
“Pretty good,” Chip said, but he was lying. Battling Crohn’s was taking more and more of a toll on Chip and he’d been up several times during the night to go to the bathroom. It seemed like he’d spent half of his life in the bathroom lately.
“I want to talk to you about strategy in the finals,” the coach said.
“I know I went out too fast in the last race,” Chip said, “but I didn’t want to get boxed in like I did in the 10,000 metre event. I’ll run a smarter race in the finals.”
“Actually, I was wondering if you’d consider pushing the pace even more.”
“I don’t understand. Why?”
The coach paused before answering. “This will be Michael’s last Olympics and we think he has a good chance of winning the gold medal. But he can’t match the speed of the other runners down the stretch so we need someone to push the pace so it becomes more of an endurance race rather than a sprint to the finish line.”
Chip looked confused, but then he realized what his coach was asking him. “So you want me to be the one to push the pace.”
“The Ethiopians run as a team,” the coach said. “So do the Kenyans. We have to think like a team as well.”
Chip didn’t respond. He knew he only had an outside chance of winning a medal himself, but that goal had been driving him for years. He wasn’t sure he wanted to abandon that goal now.
“Michael won a bronze in his first Olympics,” the coach said, “and a silver in his second. If he could win medals in three straight Olympics and top it off with a gold medal, it would become his legacy.”
Chip still didn’t respond.
“The choice is up to you,” the coach said. “Just do what you think is best.”
Chip headed back over to the track to run some wind sprints and Michael headed over to talk to him. “Don’t do it,” Michael said. He knew what the coach had asked him to do. “Don’t sacrifice your own chances at a medal just to help me win one. If I can’t do it on my own, then I don’t deserve it.”
Chip had no idea what he was going to do.
*** Chapter 11 ***
As Maria headed into work that night, she was surprised to see Greg sitting at the bar. “Good evening,” he said to Maria. “I was hoping to run into you here tonight. Perhaps we could get a drink together later after your shift ends.”
“I’m not sure that’s possible,” Maria replied, “as I work right up until closing and Eduardo here is a very strict boss.” She gave Eduardo a quick wink as she said it.
But Greg ignored the brush-off. “Bartender, I’ll have another,” he said raising his glass to Eduardo.
Maria was kept hopping keeping up with the large number of customers that night, but Greg spoke to her every time she came back to the bar to have Eduardo fill her drink order. Greg was quite witty and funny and Maria was starting to warm up to him. He was tall and blonde. Maria found herself wondering what their kids would look like.
“Just say the word,” Eduardo whispered to Maria while filling one of her orders, “and I’ll throw his ass out of here.”
“Oh, he’s harmless and not so bad,” Maria replied.
“I don’t like him,” Eduardo said. “Not one little bit.” Eduardo saw guys trying to pick up Maria every night at the bar and although he didn’t like it, he had sort of grown used to it. But there was something about Greg that rubbed him entirely the wrong way.
“You know, I signed up for one of those tours that you mentioned,” Greg said to Maria later on that night. “It would be great if you could join me.”
“I’ll think about it,” Maria said smiling.
“Hey, I’m making progress,” Greg announced to the rest of the patrons at the bar. “I’ve gone from an out-and-out no to an I’ll think about it. Bartender, I think my work here for the night is done.” He threw a wad of cash on the bar. “Keep the change.”
Maria and Eduardo watched him walk out of the bar. “I still don’t like that guy,” Eduardo said with a scowl.
As Maria walked home from the bar that night, she found herself thinking about Greg and the idea of going on the tour with him. When she walked into her place, she found her mother sitting at the kitchen table with two strange men. The two men looked like they had crawled out from under a rock somewhere. Her mother was tending to a wound on the shoulder of one of the men.
“What’s going on here?” Maria asked her mother.
“This is none of your concern,” her mother replied. “How much money did you make tonight?”
Maria threw the money on the kitchen table in front of her mother. She looked at the man who was getting his arm tended to by her mother and saw the bullet that had been removed from his shoulder lying on the table. The bullet lay in a small pool of blood.
Maria turned with disgust and headed off to her room. This was not the first time she had seen her mother remove a bullet from someone. As she lay in bed that night, Maria decided she was going to find a way to join Greg on the tour. She had to do something to get out of here.
* * *
The next day Brian and Eric found themselves almost as excited as the runners as each competitor was introduced before the start of the Olympic 5,000 metre final. There was a huge cheer when Chip was introduced and his picture appeared on the big screen in the stadium. The Brazilian runner was the last to be introduced, so the crowd was in a frenzy before the starting gun even sounded.
“What strategy do you think Chip will be using in the finals?” Eric asked his father.
“I have no idea,” Brian replied. They had not spoken to Chip since the start of the Olympics. However, Chip had posted an update on his Facebook page indicating that he’d have to come up with a better strategy in the finals to have any chance at a medal.
As Chip stood on the starting line waiting for the race to begin, he still hadn’t made up his own mind about what he was going to do. When the starting gun sounded, the Brazilian runner immediately jumped into the lead which got the home-town crowd into even more of a frenzy. Chip decided to follow his lead. As they finished the first lap, Chip looked up to see the huge screen in the stadium and could see they were about five metres ahead of the pack. The screen displayed their lap time which indicated they were on pace to set a new Olympic record.
The positioning after the fourth lap was pretty much the same, but Chip could tell that the Brazilian runner was starting to slow down. The initial adrenaline rush the hometown crowd had provided him was starting to wane. Chip decided to take the lead and keep pushing the pace. At first, the Brazilian runner kept up with him but dropped back to the main pack after another lap.
As he looked at the big screen as he completed the seventh lap, Chip could see that his lead had grown to over ten metres and he was now two seconds under the Olympic record pace.
“He’s going out way too fast,” Eric said to his father.
“He must have a plan,” Brian replied, but even he wondered what Chip was doing.
After eight laps, Chip’s lead was fifteen metres and the field was spread out in a line behind him, with the last runner almost half a lap behind. Almost in unison, the two Ethiopian runners and the two Kenyan runners decided that they couldn’t let Chip get too far ahead so they picked up their pace to try to reel him in. Michael Porter joined the group in pursuit.
Chip looked up at the big screen as he completed the ninth lap and could see what was happening behind him. But he refused to back off the incredible pace he had set so far. In fact, he increased it even more so that he was now almost four seconds under the Olympic record pace.
When he completed the tenth lap, he looked up at the big screen again, but his vision had become so blurry that he couldn’t really see what was going on anymore. But he knew they were coming up behind him. “Only two and a half laps to go,” he thought to himself. “Just keep pushing.”
He turned his focus to just the few feet of track in front of hi
m on every stride. Hi lungs were screaming and his legs were burning. And oh, the pain in his gut. He was sure his guts were going to come streaming out of his body at any second. But he continued to push.
Chip could tell by the roar of the crowd that the runners behind him were getting closer and closer. He could now hear their footsteps. Or could he? He didn’t really trust any of his senses anymore. His vision was just a blurry kaleidoscope of colours and his hearing consisted of noise, just noise, with no distinct sound. He wasn’t sure what was real anymore.
But then he heard it, the distinct sound of the bell signaling the final lap, and it seemed to pull him back into focus. He realized that someone was just about to pass him. Was it one of the Ethiopian runners, one of the runners from Kenya, or maybe that runner from Great Britain? Chip dug in even harder refusing to let him pass, but it was no use. He had nothing left.
It was only then that Chip realized it was Michael. “Finish it,” Chip said as Michael went by him.
Chip wanted to fall down right there and then, but his body just kept taking stride after stride. He felt like one of those horses that keeps on running to the finish line, even after the jockey has fallen off. His body was now on auto-pilot, just doing what it had been trained to do for all of those years.
Chip didn’t know how many more runners passed him before the finish line. His goal now was simply to finish, which he did. He had no idea what position he had finished in. He didn’t even know if Michael had won the race. He was numb.
Chip staggered towards the infield and collapsed on the grass. Within a few seconds, one of the paramedics came rushing over and placed an oxygen mask on him. Someone else placed a cold cloth on his forehead. He knew people were talking to him but he couldn’t really see them or understand what they were saying.
Up in the stands, Brian focused his binoculars trying to get a glimpse of his son, but he couldn’t really see him with all of the paramedics and trainers hovering over him.
The Legacy Page 5
