Turkey Trot

“Micah, come on! We’ve got to get going!” my older sister Rose yelled up the stairs.

“I’m coming!” I bellowed back to her. I was figuring out how safety pins worked, trying not to pinch myself while attaching a “Chestertown Turkey Trot” bib to my shirt.

The annual Turkey Trot 5K was normally Dad and Rose’s tradition. Every year, while the rest of the family slept in as late as we wanted — waking up to Mom’s ooey-gooey cinnamon buns, steaming hot cocoa, and the Thanksgiving Day Parade on television — Dad and Rose were up before the sun, running the Turkey Trot 5K.

Why would anyone pick exercise over pajamas? It was mystifying to me. When my dad said I was old enough to participate this year, I turned him down at first. But when he promised to let me run with his beloved turkey hat and I saw how jealous Rose got, I caved. He’s worn that hat every year since he was my age, which had to be a million years ago. It kind of smelled like a closet full of sneakers, but I didn’t care. Rose didn’t even get to wear the turkey hat when it was her first Turkey Trot!

I stumbled down to the car where Rose was already buckled in and Dad was gobbling down an energy bar. “Gotta fuel up,” he said in between bites. “Want one, Micah?”

“No, I just need to wake up,” I said. “Why is it still dark? Is this even legal? You think this is fun?”

“Of course it’s fun,” Rose chimed in. “Don’t you know that exercise first thing in the morning is one of the healthiest things you can do? I heard it on a podcast… ”

I stopped listening as soon as she said “podcast.” She could be such a know-it-all sometimes.

As we drove to the start of the race, I closed my eyes and tried to think about my strategy. Both Dad and Rose had been bugging me for weeks about training for the Turkey Trot 5K. Dad jogged every morning, and my sister was on the track team. So it wasn’t like either of them needed to train for the race. Which made it even more unbearable when they wouldn’t stop talking about the importance of training for endurance and building stamina. They prattled on about pacing yourself and ways to prevent your muscles from cramping up. So finally, I agreed to train, if only to get some peace and quiet.

I, of course, intended on training, but I was in middle school now. I had my friends, a crush to impress, chess club, newspaper club, and homework every night — in other words, I was busy! I told my dad I had been running every day after school, crossing it off the 30-day training plan he had printed out for me, but honestly, I only did a few days of running. I had to run a mile in gym class just last week and did okay, I reasoned, so how hard could three miles be?

When we got to the race, I was shocked how many people were there, almost all of them just as enthusiastic as my dad and Rose. The entire parking lot was filled with people chatting, stretching, tying their shoes, and jogging in place. One person even had a whole turkey outfit on, with his race bib pinned on the tail feathers.

“C’mon, let’s get a good spot,” Rose said, nudging me with her elbow.

Dad gave me an encouraging high five. Then he hugged us both together tightly and started getting all sentimental. “Oh, my little turkeys,” he warbled, “growing up so fast.”

“Okay, Dad, sure,” Rose said, patting him on the arm. “Let’s just get to the front — we don’t want to be stuck in the back with the walkers.”

It wasn’t long after we claimed our spot that the announcer came on with the countdown.

“THREE!” boomed the announcer.

Dad tried to compete with the volume of the loudspeaker. “See y’all at the — ”

“TWO!”

“ — finish line!” Dad yelled.

“ONE!”

I tugged the turkey hat on tight.

“LET’S TROT, TURKEYS!”

Rose, poised in perfect form, plugged in her Airpods and was off with the crowd. Dad found some of the other neighborhood dads he ran with and joined them, probably talking about all of the boring dad things. He tried to wave me over to them, but I was determined to run on my own.

The first half mile passed without incident. I just kept putting one foot in front of the other. I felt pretty great and surprisingly less tired. I hated to admit it, but maybe Rose had been right about exercise in the morning.

The water station at mile one was a welcome but brief stop, since I didn’t feel like I needed much rest. Scanning the crowd, I saw that I was keeping pace with a lot of other participants. Maybe I was meant to be a runner after all — maybe I’d even beat my sister to the finish line!

The streets blurred together, and I started to understand why Dad and Rose liked this so much: the cool, autumn air breezing past my face; my muscles waking up before any normal human hour. Those cinnamon rolls would taste way better after this.

Just keep swimming, just keep swimming, I told myself as street after street faded behind me.

After the first mile and a half, I was soaring. I thought this might not be so bad until my leg began to feel funny. It felt like a bunch of thumbtacks were poking my right calf. My calf muscles began twitching uncontrollably. No, no, no, not a cramp!

I panicked. My leg kept tingling unpleasantly. Should I stop or should I keep going? What did Rose advise? If only I hadn’t tuned her out!

Before I got the chance to decide, my body chose for me. I couldn’t take one step farther. I hobbled to the side of the road so I wouldn’t be in other people’s way, and I sat down on the curb, trying to shake it off. This can’t be happening, I thought. I had to figure this out before I was the last one to finish!

“Micah! ” someone called out to me across the road. “Micah, is that you?”

It was Josh, one of Rose’s teammates on the track team. Well, this is embarrassing, I thought. Before I could answer or pull down the turkey hat to cover my face, he crossed the road, accompanied by a younger girl whom I didn’t know.

“Hey, Josh,” I mumbled. “What are you doing here?”

“My family is obsessed with these things — we wear matching t-shirts and everything,” he said. “Are you okay? Where’s Rose?”

“I’m okay. Just cramping up, I think, no big deal. I’m sure Rose is at the finish line already,” I answered, trying to sound tougher than I felt. In an attempt to change the conversation, I said hi to the girl next to Josh.

“Hi,” she echoed. She and Josh had matching gaps in their front teeth.

“This is my little sister, Julia,” Josh said. “You’re welcome to join us. We’re not going for a record or anything. Sometimes the best way to deal with a cramp is just to keep moving, at least that’s what coach says. Here, give me your hand, I’ll help you up.”

“Thanks, Josh,” I muttered as I took his hand, hobbling on my left side while the cramp worked its way through my right. “It’s really nice of you to stop and help.”

“Don’t mention it, buddy. We leave no teammate behind. A brother of Rose’s is a brother of mine.”

As we walked, we saw the sign pass for two miles. Okay, I thought to myself, over halfway there. Josh seemed to sense my desire to go faster because he asked, “You ready, Micah, want to jog some?”

“Yeah, let’s go for it.”

I started jogging. At first, it was difficult and uncomfortable, but Josh and Julia encouraged me to keep moving. Slowly, the cramp faded until it was just a faint soreness in my leg. It felt nice running together. It was easier to pass the time that way, catching up about school, even sharing some tips with Julia, who had the teachers I had last year.

Suddenly, I heard someone yell out my name.

“Mi-cah!”

It sounded like Rose’s voice, but there was no way she hadn’t finished already! I looked around and didn’t see her. Maybe it was just in my head.

“Mi-CAH!” This time, the yell was even louder. “JOSH!”

Looking ahead, we saw her waiting at a water station and waving her arms at us. I jogged ahead toward her.

“What are you doing here, Rose?” I asked.

“I didn’t see you at the lap bend, so I was nervous you got lost or something. What’s taken you so long?” Rose pestered.

“Little man is all good — just some cramps,” Josh filled her in.

“I mean, yeah, well… ”  I was so embarrassed. Telling Josh was one thing, but Rose — I’d never hear the end of it. “Yeah, I guess I wasn’t as ready as I thought.”

“Micah, the fact that you’re still moving and didn’t just walk off the course means you are ready,” said Rose. She poked the bib on my shirt and smiled. “Trust me, my first race was so bad. I ended up going backwards because I totally messed up the course map. And I got disqualified because I didn’t meet the minimum pace.”

How did I never know this? My perfect, know-it-all sister made a mistake?

“Wow, Rose, that must have been awful,” I said. “Yeah, I think it’s my fault because, well, I didn’t really train… exactly… ”

“Little brother, no wonder! You’ve got to build up to this!” she chided. “How are you feeling now?”

“Better. Josh really helped me out, and it’s been nice running together.”

Rose thanked him for helping me along. “No problem,” Josh said. “You know the motto: leave no teammate behind.”

“I think I’m ready to keep going,” I said. It was then that something occurred to me. “Rose, you shouldn’t have stopped to find me — your time is going to be terrible now!”

Rose waved off my concern. “It’s not like this is official or anything. It’s a Turkey Trot, not district qualifiers,” she said, rolling her eyes. “We may not always be best friends, but you’re still my little brother, and I don’t want you injured or lost in the woods somewhere. Let’s train together for the next one, okay? Training by yourself is hard. It’s easier when you have someone to coach you and be by your side as your teammate. What do you think?”

Knowing now how nice it had been running with Josh and Julia, I had to agree. Besides, if we trained together, she’d never let me slack off, that was for sure. “Yeah, that’d be great. Thanks, Rose.”

She smiled. “Let’s start by trotting our turkey stuff, okay? We’ll finish this race together.”

“Sounds like team spirit to me,” Josh said.

“Yeah, let’s do it!” Julia piped in.

“Alright, turkeys, let’s go!” I exclaimed.

Finding a new pace, we took off in stride. Maybe this wasn’t so bad after all. Maybe one day, I would even join track, just like my sister, and maybe we’d even compete on the same team.

Until then, though… one foot in front of the other… one step closer to those cinnamon rolls!