Time of the End of the Season Part Four

By Bob Hodge

Bob Hodge grew up in Lowell and went on to graduate from Lowell High (1973) and University of Lowell (1990). He was (and still is) one the greatest runners to come out of this region. He’s also a writer whose 2020 memoir, Tale of the Times: A Runner’s Story, is available at lala books in downtown Lowell and in Kindle format from Amazon. The following is an excerpt from his novel-in-progress.

Already published:

Time episode 1

Time episode 2

Time episode 3

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I toured around the city a bit on foot and then left my ruck sack at a local bus station where I changed into my running gear and went for a long easy run scouting out places where I might be able to camp out for the night.

I found what looked like a nice spot adjacent to a golf course at a public park called Bayou South. New Orleans felt like a foreign country sophisticated but funky at the same time. It was a lot to take in and I just needed some shut eye. When I arrived at the park with a few supplies just as it was getting dark, I spotted a police car that seemed to be watching me.

You know it is difficult to hobo though you are doing nothing wrong just want to lie down for the night under the stars and rest your weary head and be left alone.

Perhaps it was just my paranoia and they left and stopped following me.

I’d had a good sleep that night and woke up early to the sound of the sprinklers on the luxurious grass of the golf course. I put on my running shorts and hid my bag in the woods and then ran barefoot around the edges of the course avoiding the few golfers who were out this early.

When after an hour or so I finished my run, I stood in a sprinkler to cool off and clean off. “Hey, what are you doing?” “Oh, sorry, just rinsing off.” “Where are you from?” “Massachusetts.” “Is that how you do it for their son?”

The groundskeeper told me I could shower at the clubhouse if I wanted and I was surprised by this friendliness and hospitality. “Thank you very much sir, I will do that.”

He watched me as I walked off into the nearby woods to grab my ruck sack. When I got to the clubhouse he pointed the way and handed me a towel. “You been hoboing son?” “Yes Sir, I just wanted to see New Orleans.”

“Of course, but I wouldn’t overstay your welcome.”

I headed to the bus station to catch my ride to Atlanta but missed it by minutes. The next one wouldn’t leave for six hours so I read for a while and then walked around the city.

In the business district close to the French Quarter I spotted a store that seemed to be dedicated to selling mainly running shoes and gear called the Runnery. I checked out some flyer’s in the window one advertising the Ignatius J Reilly five mile road race.

I went inside and met the proprietor Jean Louis a very friendly guy who after a few minutes conversation seemed to know who I was—I then realized why when I spotted the issue of Track & Field News with my photo on the cover.

We talked about the existence of these specialty running shops and Jean pointed out that the big chain stores still refused to carry most of the major brands of running shoes because they did not see any profit in it. As for the Runnery they had been open for two years and seemed to be making a pretty good go of it.

“Willy, why don’t you stay over a few days and you can run the five miler on Saturday and meet some very interesting people who are raising funds to get a statue of Ignatius made and dedicated.” “Are there any prizes? I know that ours is not a professional sport but I still consider myself a pro as it means nothing to me to come here and beat the local hero with no other incentive.”

“Of course Willy, I see your point. If you win wearing my Runnery singlet I will give you $100. Also first prize is $100 gift certificate to Bank’s Meat Market which I will buy from you if you win.”

“You can stay with me here, I have an apartment in the back of the store.”

“Sounds like a plan, Jean.”

“Yes, it will be quite a surprise for the local hero as you say -we have one and he is overdue to be taken down a peg.”

When the store closed at 6 there was a loosely organized group run with around twenty people of varying abilities. We ran together at an easy pace, Jean introducing me to the crowd as a wandering athlete seeking wisdom from his elders.

We ran over parts of the race course that would be used on Saturday so I got a little preview. “Willy, there will be a festival going on in the Quarter and the race will run right through the middle of it. It is a three loop course and the spectators will be jacked up in party mood man.”

After our run we returned to the apartment where I met Michelle, Jean’s girlfriend. “We have an outdoor shower Willy, it’s a garden hose there and you can have a swim in our little pool there.” Michelle and I will grill some barbecue and make a salad. If you want avocado just pick from that tree over there or a ripe one on the ground.”

As I lounged about Jean joined me with two ice cold Dixie beers. “Here’s to you my new friend, I’m so happy you stopped by.” I told Jean of my plans when I reached Atlanta and my new coach Sal Parker. “He’s a good one Willy? He can reign you in? Ha!” “You got me pegged Jean, I’m as stubborn as they come.”

“Willy, your main competition on Saturday will be Fuzzy a very interesting local character—a shrimp fisherman.” “He was a high school phenom setting records at 800M –2 Miles and finishing second at the state cross country championship his senior year running with a broken toe.”

“Very smart as well even though he tried to hide it and apparently scored perfect on his SAT but had no interest in college even though he was recruited by many, many.” “Jean, what is his actual name?” “Alphonse Boudreaux, means “ready for battle man”” “You will see why they call him Fuzzy when you meet him.”

“Sounds like a tough bastard.” “He is like you Willy all heart. When I read about the national cross country race in T&FNews and the quotes from the Broken Arrow coach, it made me smile. Especially your being unavailable for comment.”

After our enjoyable evening I settled down on the couch read for a bit and slept soundly. In the morning Michelle invited me to go on a swamp tour party boat ride with her and her girlfriends. “Hell yes.”

The race on Saturday would be at noon and so it would be very hot and humid. I was beginning to think maybe I got suckered because Alphonse “though he be but little, he is fierce.” I spotted him immediately wearing number one, prancing around, light dark skin, an enormous afro and porno mustache.

I smiled as I ran past him in my Runnery singlet and gave him a quick wave as I did. He stopped and stared.

We lined up and the starter pistol sent us off 300 strong but only the top 100 would make the results. The entry fee was $2.00 and at the finish you got a foot long hot dog from Bank’s Meat Market and a Coca Cola. The top 100 would get a Popsicle stick with their finish place on it and hand that in at a table with your name sticker for the results.

The first quarter mile was straight on and then a hard left for three 1.5 mile loops before finishing the last quarter as we started. Fuzzy went out at suicidal pace just as I thought he would. I tried to pull even with him but he fought me off.

The mile was 4:16 and I was running nearly all out. I was in good shape generally but not prepared for this pace. I figured he had to slow down so I hung with him. I was not going to let him go or gain more than an inch, if I did he might not be coming back to me.

Sure enough he slowed a lot and I pulled alongside as he looked me up and down 2 miles passing in 8:56. “Willy mon ami, you think you got me now? You ain’t got me now.” “Watch me Fuzz mon and I threw everything but the kitchen sink at him and finally broke free at 3.5 or so.”

The unruly crowd reveled in it some staggering onto the course where I had to straight arm a few debauched folk.

As I hit the final quarter mile and made the turn Fuzzy was catching me, inconceivable but here he was and we fought tooth and nail Fuzzy with his crazy hair and me with my beard and sunglasses—it was a dead heat but they gave me the victory and Fuzzy threw his arms around me and said “You was a worthy opponent Willy, that was a good one.”

I’ll never forget this one, Fuzzy this is what it’s all about.

Post race we did a presser and then got our photos taken in front of the placeholder for the Ignatius statue while eating our foot long hot dogs and slugging some Dixie’s.

The party carried on back to the RUNNERY where Alphonse and I had a meeting of the minds.

“Fuzzy ain’t it hard to get out for a run after days out fishing?” “No Willy, fishing is hard, running is easy like going out to play.”

I wondered about all the great potential athletes we might have in our sport with any incentive for them other than glory —Olympics or otherwise.

That night I slept peacefully content. The camaraderie in our sport made it worthwhile. I think.

I felt positively that this excursion of mine was the right thing for me at barely nineteen. Hey nineteen. You don’t find out nothing hanging around Galway that’s for sure.

One of these things first:

https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=vDtsgVgAx6k