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"Hear That, Kid?"

Hear That, Kid?

A Commentary
By Bill Harkins

My friends, Jeremy Tercey, is deaf, a result of having been born with cerebral palsy (CP). He walks with a slighty irregular gait, like a sailor who came ashore not yet having his land legs. These things do not stop him from competing in sports. Jeremy plays wheelchair soccer with the Kansas City Power & Speed team, sponsored by Jackson Country Parks & Recreation's Special Recreation Department. He competes on a track at distances up to 1,500 meters. Whatever the event, Jeremy is a fierce competitor.

I met Jeremy while serving my internship for a recreation therapy degree. We worked and played together for five months. My sign language skills were nil when I began, and only a little better now. But Jeremy is patient with my halting attempts to use the little signing I have learned. His mom, Tina is a sign language interpreter and his step-dad, Bob is adept at signing. Both help coach the soccer team and track and field athletes. When necessary, they help us communicate.

I had watched Jeremy play soccer (you do not have to be a total wheelchair user to play), but had not seen him run until one April afterone when he asked me to clock him for a 400 meter time trial. He ran 01:39. Aha! My 400 times are only a little better. With my being 62 and he 20 and CP, we are closely matched as runners. And breathes there a runner anywhere who, observing another with ability so similar, would not want to see who was really faster? So, I did what any runner would--challenged him to a race and said I could beat him. Jeremy replied as any runner should--by laughing in my face and telling me, "No way." He said he ran the 400 in 01:04 in high school. I said that was then, this is now. Did he care to step to the line and see? Bob, interpreting much of this with delight, thought it a great idea. But there wasn't time that day.

CP Mid-America Games
A few weeks later, we were at the United Cerebral Palsy Mid-America Games--three days of competitions including soccer, boccia, power lifting, and track and field events. Kansas City Power & Speed has too much of both for Topeka that Friday night, defeating their rivals by a score of 11-5. I was hoarse from cheering. Track and field events were held the next day. Jeremy won the 800 meter race with a time of 03:36--three seconds faster than his time last year; two seconds faster than my best time at that distance. Are you listening, kid? We may be separated by forty-two years and a wall of silence, but on the track you and I are right there. Jeremy smiled and gave me a wave-off that clearly said, "In-your-dreams, old man!"

When the 400 meter race was called, I figured Jeremy to run about 01:34. But two-thirds of the way through the first curve an opponment cut him off. The illegal move broke Jeremy's focus. He slowed and never got back on pace, finishing in a disappointing 01:41. Visibly upset, Jeremy sought out the offending runner and his coach said, demanding an explanation. The coach said, politely and sincerely, that the athlete was new to the sport and had made a mistake for which he, the coach, was just then rebuking him. The athlete was sorry and looked it. Jeremy stuck out his hand, and the two shook. Apology accepted. Honor satisfied.

Still, Jeremy was stuck with a poor time. Bob approached the officials and explained the problem. A runner named Steve, who had competed against Jeremy all day (beated by him in the 800 and 100, beating Jeremy in the 400, perhaps only by way of that accidental cut-off) stepped forward, unasked, and verified Jeremy's story. He had seen it, from behind. It was the second time that day that Steve had volunteer information to right a wrong. In the 100 meters, Jeremy had beaten him by three stide lengths, in a time of 18:36. A timer erroneously entered Steve's time as 16.46. Steve had the officials change it. He wouldn't let the record show he had beaten someone he hadn't.

A Timed Re-Run
In the face of the evidence, the officials decreed that Jeremy could run the 400 meters over, for time. Then an official threw one of those switches by which our fates so often are arranged. He suggested Jeremy find someone to run aganst him, to provide the necessary challenge for a fast run. Before the official stopped speaking, Bob was looking at me, an impish gleam in his eyes. "Would you?" "how about me?" we said at the same time. Was it okay with Jeremy? Jeremy's wide grin said yes with no need of an interpreter. Was that okay with the the officials? Yes, since only Jeremy's time would be recorded.

I donned lightweight sweatpants and running shoes and ran warm-up laps around the infield while the 20 meter heats were being run. Then it was our turn. We line up in a staggered start, jeremy won the inside, and were told to stay in our lanes throughout the race. As we waited, Bob told Jeremy I planned to cut him off in the first turn! "Don't let him beat you, Bill" Tina was teling me from the infield. "Hey, mom, dad -- whoese side are you guys on?" I think Tina felt I needed encouragement, perhaps having gotten into something too difficult for someone my age. She'd asked twice if I minded doing this. She didn't realized I loved doing it. I told her I would not give the kid anything, he would have to work to beat me. I gave him a now we'll see look over my shoulder and got a wide grin in return. The starter raised an orange-sleeved arm, pointing a pistol at the sky. Tgere were comands, follwoed by a puff of smoke and the gun's report. One hard lap, I told myself.

Halfway throug the first turn, I heard Jeremy's footfalls as the disparity between our lanes corrected itself. We came out of the turn side-by-side, Jeremy grinning at my shoulder. I kicked the pace down a notch. His feet now sounded a sacnt stride behind me. I wondered what it was like for him to see me there, but not hear my steps or my laboed breathing? We batled through the second 100 meters, Jeremy pulling ahead, me responding. I hod no idea of our pace, but knew it wa as fast as any I had ever run. I wondered if I could hold it, thought briefly of backing off a bit, but the sound of running feet just behind me was a prod.

Entering the second and last turn, I knew this was toing to get very uncomfortable. I told myself we were halfway done; just hang on and keep running. Coming out of the turn, the final 100 meters strectched eerily before me. I saw Tina about 50 meters ahead, could sense more than actually see the finish line at the end of what seemed the longest expanse of red rubber ever seen. I no longer heard Jeremy's steps, but had no idea if that was because I was outdistancing him or because my senses were shutting down from fatique. The pounding of my own heart was in my ears, nothing else. I no longer heard each gasping breath, and I had lost sight --or focus--of Tian and the finish line. Was it this abd for Jeremy? Briefy, I wondered f I should slow down in case I was outrunning him; pace him rather than beat him. the though ad no real effect. I was running almost against my own will at this point. Wherever Jeremy was, he was trying his hardest to best me. that would ensure that he ran his best. I was too tired to think more about it.

The Finish
I felt myself stumble and recover. I was near the limit of endurance and control, but there wasn't time to worry about it. There were nosies and fuzzy images of people at the edges of my vision. There was a white line with numbers painted across the track a short distance ahead. I ran towards it.

Past the white line, I slowed to a shuffle, then a walk, and wobbled down the track past spectators with blurred faces, beyond the curve onto the over run, finally ot lean against a wall and gulp at the now still air. When I could breathe a little, I turned to look for Jeremy. He was across the line, bent over hands to knees, gasping through his own recovery. I walked to him, hand outstretched. He unbent and shook my hand with a smile. then he shook his head as if in amazement and staggered off to hwere Tina and Bob waited to engulf him with hugs and back-pounding congratulations. Bob had gotten his time from the officials. 01:36 is where the recrod will show for his 400 meter race that day. Jeremy was happy with that.

Later, Bob dispelled my doubts about having not slowed at 300 meters to stay with Jeremy. "it's one for us older guys," he said, calling it a lesson for the kid about respecting the abilities of age. to Jeremy, I said the difference was in our training. I train and race year around. He ahd trained hard for the soccer games, but not at all for the foot races. He had depended on youth and past performance to carry him. If he trains, he can beat me next time. But he will have to work for it. You hear that, kid?

Bill Harkins is a full-time construction project manager, part-time writer, marathoner, and running coach. He began running late in life and wrote a book on the subject, entitled Second Wind, which is about to have its second printing. He writes about running for Master Pieces Magazine in Kansas City. He recently completed an associate degree in recreation therapy at Kansas City Kansas Community College serving an internship working with athletes with disablilitie, where he met Jeremy. He hopes to continue working with athletes with disabilities upon reiring from construction work.

Jeremy Tercey competed in the National Games at New London, Connecticut, this last July, winning silver in the 800 meter race, and bronze in both the 400 and 800 meter distances. Jeremy has a twin brother, named Jason, who also has CP and is deaf. Jason was a member of the USA 4x100 realy team that won the sivler medal in the 1996 Paralympics Games in Atlanta. Jeremy and jason are considering training for the year 2000 Paralympics in Australia.