EDITOR’S NOTE: The LaPorte High School English Department has presented the 2013 Iselman Writing Awards to four LPHS students. Award winners and the categories in which they were recognized are: Essay — Johnna Belkiewitz; Personal Narrative
Chris Iselman
— Addie Boardman; Poetry — Jamie Austin; Short Story — Joseph Tomal.
The LPHS English Department has awarded these honors every year since 1974. Christopher Iselman was a member of the LPHS Class of 1970. When Chris died during his senior year, his parents and teachers decided to honor his love of writing by establishing this contest. Students submit their works in the four aforementioned categories and their submissions are judged anonymously by LPHS English teachers.
Each winner receives a certificate and a plaque, and the winning entries are published on WNLP as well as in the LPHS newspaper, the Hi-Times. In addition, the winners’ names are added to a large, permanent plaque displayed in the LPHS English Office.
The Big Race
By Joseph Tomal
Johnny Spykes looked even more intimidating in person.
Johnny was at least half a foot taller, twenty pounds heavier, and a whole lot more popular than me. Heck, he was more popular than anyone on the track. He has been reigning state champ in hurdles for the past three years. Everyone knew his name. He had a certain swagger that made me feel almost guilty for even trying to beat him, almost as if Johnny deserved to win.
Joseph Tomal
I was a decent hurdler, pretty much the only one on my small high school’s track team. My high school, East Franklin, consisted of mostly middle to lower class kids. My coach reminded me almost every day that I had potential; that I could give myself a name on the track. I agreed to a certain extent; however, competing with someone like Spykes made my talent appear nonexistent.
I competed with him only once before, at last year’s Regional Meet. I placed third, which sounds adequate, but Johnny completely destroyed me by a whole three seconds. That defeat made me feel powerless; yet, it also gave me new hunger. After that defeat, I made it my mission to defeat Johnny. I believed it was possible; others thought I was crazy, but their opinions didn’t matter to me.
Somehow, East Franklin was always invited to the same track meets as the high schools notorious for producing Division One college recruits. One of the elite schools was North Central, the school Johnny attended.
Over the off season I trained religiously. I became stronger, faster, more confident, and ready to face Spykes. Some nights, I stayed an hour after practice finished. The work I put in was extremely laborious; however, I knew it was necessary for my goal.
Finally, the meet arrived. It was the March Open held at the University of St. Francis. Only the most elite athletes from the Midwest were invited. Fortunately, I was one of them. As I entered the university’s field house, I was in awe. There was so much commotion. Athletes wearing various colors scattered the track. Some even ran in the hallway for warm-ups. Friends and families wore t-shirts and held signs for whoever they supported.
Suddenly, I heard a hush go over the crowd. I turned and saw my rival, Johnny Spykes, enter the field house. His physique had improved. He seemed to have gained muscle and lost any remaining fat. Instead of being intimidated, I was eager.
As Johnny walked by me, he shoulder-checked me and said, “I’d stay out of my way if I were you, kid.”
I didn’t let him break my focus. I laced up my shoes and put on my speed-suit. I was ready.
Then over the loudspeaker I heard, “Boy’s 110 meter hurdles. Final call.” More commotion arose as fans struggled to find seats and runners did their last practice runs. Johnny and I were in the first heat together.
I kneeled down at the starting blocks. The others imitated. Johnny still stood, waving at his fans. He was so full of himself. He wore neon green and baby blue track spikes — quite flamboyant.
I laughed to myself. Johnny must have heard me. He kneeled down next to me and said, “Why even try? You don’t have a chance and you know it.”
I thought to myself, “He’s only human; a cocky, annoying human.” The butterflies inside my stomach disappeared, and a new rage entered. I was going to win this race, even if it was the last thing I ever did.
The official stood at the starting line and asked, “Runners ready?” We nodded. Finally, the time had come.
The official said, “Runners, on your marks. Set.” For the first time since I entered the field house there was complete silence. The only audible sounds were the runners adjacent to me breathing and my heart pumping.
Suddenly, the official fired his gun with a “Bang!” We bolted off the starting blocks and approached the first hurdle.
Johnny and I broke loose from the pack of runners; however, we were neck-and-neck. We soared over the first hurdles in unison.
I made an almost fatal mistake of looking at Johnny while sprinting. He looked worried. He never suspected me to be able to keep up with him. As I directed my attention back to the track, I misjudged my footing. I stumbled as I landed over the sixth hurdle. This could be my breaking point. Instead, this only fueled the fire inside of me even more.
Abruptly, I entered a new level of sprinting. This was the fastest I had ever run before. I flew past Johnny and the upcoming hurdles at a new velocity. I could hear Johnny struggling to keep up as we rocketed over the final hurdles.
The next ten meters would be the breaking point for either Johnny or me. My lungs were burning from lack of oxygen and my muscles ached; however, I persevered. The last meters seemed to take a lifetime. The finish line approached. Neither one of us was breaking.
All of a sudden, I heard a grunt, then a scrape. Johnny tripped. He didn’t fall, but he faltered in one of his steps. That mistake was my opportunity to finish the race on top. I stretched my legs as far as they could go toward the finish line.
The red tape draped across my chest as I collapsed across into forbidden territory. Johnny followed, only a half step behind. I achieved the unthinkable. I defeated Johnny Spykes.
That victory meant so much more than first place. My heart filled with pride and the crowd was smacked with complete astonishment. The godlike Johnny Spykes finally lost. I screamed and hollered. I stood up and received hugs from my friends and my coach.
After everyone settled down, I looked toward Johnny.
He was sitting on the ground in bewilderment. We met eyes. I shrugged my shoulders and let out a chuckle. At that moment, the famous Johnny Spykes didn’t look like such a giant after all. Instead, he looked like a kid whose ego had finally caught up with him. He looked like an ant next to a skyscraper, and he probably felt like one, too.