The Patriot League cross country meet was last Saturday. Graham ran varsity, as he had all season; it was a warm, clear October day, temperatures rising to almost eighty degrees. Graham’s goal was to run the 5k in 18:30. He ran 19:06 and finished fifth on his team—he normally finishes third.
Naturally, this led to a lot of consternation, stamping around, exclamations of “I don’t know what happened!”, assurances from his coach that “heat must have been a factor but I’m not worried about you,” and so forth.
In the car on the way home, Graham was still brooding about it and said, “My first mile was perfect. Then, about a mile and a half in, my legs just had no energy.”
Something occurred to me then. “Did you eat the peanut butter sandwich at 9:30 like I told you?”
“No, I wasn’t hungry.”
“Well, there you go,” I said. “Your legs gave out because you had no energy. You ate at 7:30 am. You ran at 11:15. Your stomach was empty and your blood sugar was low. You needed to eat again around an hour before the race.”
He was quiet for a few moments, then said, “Well, at least it was only the league meet. I read about a guy who got 37th at leagues, then eighth at divisional states, then fifth at all states.”
Later at home, I was in the kitchen making our next meal. Graham swung through and said, “Frankie was one spot away from making Patriot League All Stars. I think I was one peanut butter sandwich away from being with him.”
“Maybe so,” I said. “Either way, you’re only a freshman. You have had a great season and you still get to run at state.”
“Yeah,” he said. “Maybe I’ll do even better if I have two peanut butter sandwiches.”
I laughed. He went back to the family room. I gathered the scraps of an onion I had just chopped and opened the kitchen trash can. On top sat a peanut butter sandwich still in its ziplock baggie.
His Smile Lit Up a Room and Other Things to Say at My Funeral 