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out a long, slow sigh. He hoped that meant the practice would be easy on everyone.
    â€œWhat about you, Jake?” asked Dave. “Good weekend?”
    â€œOh.” Jake smiled, then shrugged. “Not bad.” He didn’t want to say he’d been running, and he couldn’t think of anything else.
    Dave nodded. “Okay, gents, today we’re going to talk a little bit about something called bonking.”
    Shawn pretended to cuff Paul on the side of the head. “Bonk.”
    Tony slid his shoulder into Sam’s on one side, then into Jake’s on the other. “Bonk.”
    Dave laughed. “Not that kind of bonking. What I’m referring to is that feeling of hitting a wall in your race. You can get to a point when you feel you just can’t go any further. Your brain tells your legs to quit. Or your legs tell your brain, That’s it, we’re done. ” The boys nodded. They knew how that felt.
    â€œNow, some of this is physical,” continued Dave. “It has to do with diet, especially with what you ate in the days and the hours before the race. And also if you’ve had enough to drink and just what it was you filled your tank up with. You guys know all about this, but sometimes you still have to remind yourselves to do it, to choose the right stuff and to get enough of it at the right time.”
    Jake considered telling them about the pickle juice but decided he’d keep that to himself for now.
    â€œA big part of bonking is also mental. Picture one of Shawn’s video games. Sometimes it seems your character is stuck in whatever world he’s in, but if you explore the walls a little, you’ll come across a little door to escape through. The same thing happens in running. When you feel you’ve hit a wall, look for that little door. Don’t quit. Tell yourself it’s there, and you’ll probably find it. You boys understand what I’m talking about?”
    â€œSure, Dave.” They nodded.
    â€œOkay then.”
    They got up from the picnic table and did some stretching. “We’re going to start with a light run today,” said Dave, clapping Paul lightly on the shoulder. “Follow the paths through twice.” Everyone started to jog away. Jake made sure his shoes were tied tightly enough.
    â€œJake?”
    â€œYeah?”
    â€œI don’t want you to overdo it today. I know you’ve got the city run tomorrow.”
    Jake nodded.
    â€œHow’s that going?”
    â€œPretty good.”
    â€œAnkle okay?”
    â€œSure. Just a little tender.”
    Dave’s eyebrows went up a little. “Let’s see.”
    Jake loosened the laces again.
    â€œStill a fair bit of swelling,” said Dave. “I thought it would be okay after you rested it for the weekend. Hmm. You must have hurt it worse than I thought. Okay. Well, go home then.”
    â€œWhat?” Jake looked up. “It’s fine, Dave. I can run. It’s fine.”
    â€œNo, go. You want to be your best for tomorrow, don’t you?”
    â€œYes, but…”
    â€œThen go home, Jake. Put the ankle on ice. Keep it up. Watch a movie or read a book about running if you want to, but don’t do any.”
    â€œBut…”
    Dave put a hand on his shoulder. “But nothing. You need to listen to what your body is telling you. Go home and rest. Don’t worry. A day off won’t hurt your race any.”
    â€œIt won’t?”
    â€œNo, but a bum ankle will.”
    By seven thirty that evening, Jake had had enough of hanging around the house. He needed to go for a run. Just a short one. He changed into some running gear and was tying his shoes when the phone rang.
    â€œHello?”
    â€œJake?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œDave Driscoll.”
    â€œHi, Dave.”
    â€œJust checking that you’re staying off that foot.”
    â€œAbsolutely. Just sitting here watching Chariots of Fire.