I was always about ten feet behind him.
Sometimes you do stuff for fun. Sometimes you do stuff because you can. Sometimes that second one is also fun. Mine was the third one.
Over the years of working at a Boy Scout summer camp, I’ve had many fun events. Some were the makings of others, some were my own. Regardless, not everything is sunshine and roses. Occasionally, an event or person just irritated me to no end and I let them know it. Not the best attitude—I know. I’m just stating facts—not rationale.
For many years, the Staff at this camp had nicknames—this is partially responsible for my reputation as Batman being spread by over 100,000 people into six different countries. In this story, there are really only four people of importance: Me, Wheaties (real name I cannot recall), Nathan (nickname I cannot recall), and my wife (her name I know for a certainty). And, it also needs to be understood that for reasons I truly cannot recall Wheaties and I only had a working relationship. We worked together. At the same camp. We didn’t really get along.
We didn’t fight or create problems for other staff members, but we just didn’t click. Looking back, I’m sure I could have done more to make things better, but I honestly can’t recall why the two of us didn’t connect in a friendly way. That only occurred with like three other staff members over the span of twelve years. The first one intentionally fanned the flames. The second was an complete idiot (I know what I wrote). I’m off-topic. Apologies.
It was another typical day. Class sessions were wrapping up and program areas were closing for mealtime. As my staff and I were returning to the lodge—from the farthest end of the meadow—Wheaties was there to greet us. Conversation started, things were said, I became agitated, started walking toward him, and he ran.
At this point in time, I had been working at the camp for several years. I had a solid reputation. I was almost legendary. People trusted me. I was resourceful. I could accomplish anything. I knew the camp well. I knew all sorts of knots and things. So, when I stepped forward with a sinister sneer stretched across my visage, it was no wonder to those present that Wheaties ran for his life.
The Marine Corps has this thing about running in your Service Uniform: Don’t do it. Yet, if you need to get somewhere quickly, you can move as if another’s life depends on it—all in a walk.
There is a trick to this walk and the movement of the legs, knees, ankles, and hips that adds speed and distance to your stride that also does not get you all tuckered out and sweaty. I don’t need to do it that often, but, I can still walk pretty quickly for an old man when I need to. At that moment, I was much younger, very fit, and I needed to.
Within seconds I was gaining on Wheaties. He turned around to see how far he left me in the dust. I was closer to him now than I was when he first ran away. This confusion swept over his face and fell out of his mouth in a cry of disbelief and terror. His eye swelled and almost popped out of their sockets. Immediately he turned back around and began to run for safety.
After a short distance dash for his own protection, Wheaties—once again—turned around to see how far he may have left me in the dust only to discover me remaining a mere ten feet behind him, walking, my sickening smirk still stationary while I continued otherwise. I was closing the gap ever so quickly. I had yet to conform to a run. Wheaties only saw my unchanged expression and my constant gait. How could I get closer if all I ever did was walk?!? You could read the question in his terrified eyes. Again, Wheaties screamed in abject terror, turned, and ran.
Because the elevation of the Scout Camp was 9,000+ feet it takes people a while to adjust to the relative low oxygen levels. It took me three years of working that elevation to get to the point where I could run, at full speed, and not want to throw up and die. This was Wheaties’ first year. At best, we were only into it five out of eight weeks. Also, he was a little overweight and out of shape. Additionally, I knew the terrain like the back of my hand. I could have walked that meadow with my eyes closed. I knew where the seemingly small rocks jutted out (because they were bigger than they looked due to surrounding grasses). I knew where the softer dirt was (because the meadow was the start of a river of mountain runoff). Wheaties had to watch his steps or literally face the consequences of tripping. Nothing was in his favor—including the sun.
Due to the time of day, each time Wheaties faced away from me he would get an eye-full of sunlight. Then, turn around to try and spot me. This was to my advantage. See, when Wheaties faced away from me and ran, I would jog to keep the gap short. I would watch his body language that told me when he was about to turn around: shoulders being the biggest giveaway. When his rotation began I would just drop back to my insane walking speed and be right behind him by only walking (as far as he knew). If you’ve ever looked into a bright light, then looked away, you know how dark the new scene is for a moment. So, if I misjudged his turn and did not resume my steady stride quickly enough, he would see the change. He never saw it. I was always just. right. there.
Look. Scream. Run. Repeat.
Wheaties was winded, exhausted, sweaty, and about to pass out. I was fine. And, as a note, while it may have been one of the meanest things I have done (this one being far, far worse), I was also loving every second of it (I know what I wrote). It was so hard to not laugh out loud at his dilemma. He wasn’t going to get away. I had known it. He was realizing it.
Eventually, we neared the staff lodge. In a single burst of last-ditch effort, Wheaties bolted with a fervor I have rarely seen. Almost as if the cereal he was nicknamed after had sent him a heavenly reserve of power. Wheaties sort of half jumped, half rolled over a short section of fence, rather than move for the opening a few feet to his left (I guess he thought it might slow me down somehow?). At this point in the pursuit I was like that liquid metal Terminator from the movie that just kept coming at the target. Face unchanged. Unfazed by effort—of any kind. Unrelenting. I had my target in my sights.
As I placed my left foot on the top log of the stacked fence, my body smoothly hovered over it and my right foot found solid ground in one perfect motion. Almost as if I truly were the liquid Terminator (thank you years of ballet). Wheaties, at his wit’s end—after witnessing this last maneuver—stumbled up the stairs on his hands and knees and called out for the only person that could make this whole situation come to a grinding halt: “CINDY!!!” (my wife)
At the top of the stairs that ascend to the lodge, there is a small porch. Upon this porch, there was a staff member who had been relaxing in a comfortable chair, reveling, because he had been able to take in the entire scene from start to finish. Nathan (our Archery Director) had not heard what caused the hounding, but watch from start to finish he did—and loved every second of it.
Now, I too was at the top of the stairs and could see that Nathan had the biggest smile I had ever witnessed him wear while he quietly chuckled to himself. Then, as softly as humanly possible, he whispered as I passed, “That was awesome.”
Once inside, I found a group of clearly confused Scout Masters, while Wheaties—in the fetal position behind the chair occupied by my wife—whimpered repeatedly, “Save me!” The instant I was in her sights, Cindy stood tall and strong (she is amazing, always has been), then pronounced upon my presence, “William, that is enough.”
It was over. I slunked out of the Lodge to sit next to Nathan and discuss what he had witnessed. A minute later Wheaties went to walk out the front door (where we were located), saw me, screamed again, and bolted back into the lodge only to rapidly egress out the secondary opening located at the opposite end of the lodge. As soon as Wheaties’ scream was audible, I heard from my wife, “William, what did you do?”
“Nothing. I was just sitting here. Honest.”
“It’s true,” supported Nathan. “I was a witness.” Whispering he added, “From start to finish, I was a witness.”
Almost Heroes 