The Beep Test

It was early February at the local catchment High

When a notice on a whiteboard caused a stir.

Mr Peters had surveyed the Year 8 students and had sighed,

“All the kids have gotten lazy between terms”.

In the PE teacher’s office, by the oval down the back,

He resolved that he would get them lean and light.

With his brand new fitness program he would have them back on track,

But he needed data first to get it right.

From the prefab out he ventured, ‘cross the oval, up the stairs

Until standing ‘fore the whiteboard in 8C.

And with sadistic relish, his red marker did declare,

“Bring your runners; Beep test – February 23”

When the kids of 8C saw it there were shrugs and jokes and groans,

And suggestions that they all should barely try,

“Just shuffle ‘til you get to 3 then miss the next two tones,

I’m not running when the heat’s at 35”.

But then the voice of Darren Chisholm carried ‘bove the rest,

His voice smirking with his feet up, he reclined,

“I’ve been doing runs all summer, ten bucks says I’ll do the best,

With a score of 12 or higher”, he opined.

This pricked the ears of Georgia Baros, sitting near the front,

For whom Darren’s very presence was a bane.

Not quite thinking as she spoke up, without turning to confront,

She said “I’ll take your bet”, he scoffed and laughed, “No way”.

8C fell still and quiet, all observing the exchange,

Darren’s smirk froze and then deepened as he stood,

“You reckon you can beat me?”, She committed to his game,

She said, “Damn straight, you just make sure your cash is good”.

And then the class erupted into ooohs and laughs and jeers,

Standing, Georgia turned to face and meet his gaze,

Then she crossed the room in six quick strides and to her classmates’ cheers,

She shook his hand then crossed back in a daze.

Darren’s boasting wasn’t empty, he excelled at playing League,

Smashing carries up the middle for his team.

Making tackles with a line speed unrelenting, no fatigue,

“What an engine!” cried his coaches with esteem.

But unbeknownst to Darren (‘cause she kept her cards held close),

At the local swim club Georgia was a Queen.

She had several local records and her lungs were strong as bellows,

She’d been swimming laps with speed since she was three.

The morning of the 23rd the cones were neatly placed,

Next to Mr Peter’s office, ‘neath a tree.

Shortly after 10 the rivals both stood face-to-face,

As the temperature crept up to 33.

Sweat dotted Georgia’s brow, “It’s fuckin’ hot” one kid observed,

All while Darren stood with self-assured ease.

She took position on the left and calmed her anxious nerves,

As Darren took the right and clapped his knees.

And then the first tone sounded and the line of kids were off,

As they did their best to try and judge the speed.

By 8.6 the rest had given up and copped the loss,

But the rivals matched the pace and tried to breathe.

Warm air sucked in with every breath, the heat was sapping life,

As the numbers and the speed ticked ever higher.

Tension rose amidst the watchers; you could cut it with a knife,

As the lactic built and set their legs afire.

12.3 then 12.4, then well past 12.5,

Mr Peters’ brow was furrowed with concern.

At 13 he made the move to stop the test, “Your scores are fine,

Time to shower then get back to class to learn.”

A wordless glance between them, Darren pointed at the oval.

“One lap?”, he gasped, hoping she’d say no,

Her reply-cross-exhalation was emphatic with approval,

“You’re on”, and they both spun and shot to go.

They didn’t know it but the distance was about 500m,

To complete a full lap ‘round the outer line.

Though dead out on their feet and hearts exploding in their ears,

They accelerated, matching stride for stride.

At the 150m mark, she felt her vision dim,

As Darren started just to edge ahead,

‘Til there was just the line before her, almost like it was a swim,

And an iron will asserted in her head.

Though her lungs screamed out for mercy, she had felt this way before,

And she drove her legs like pistons through the ground.

In the closing metres sprinting, as her inner voices roared,

She crossed ahead then promptly fell without a sound.

Darren joined her and collapsed as Mr Peters yelled abuse,

“What on earth was all of that?” came his demand.

Darren sucked in three hard breaths, then offered his reply, obtuse,

“That was Georgia forcing me to understand.”

Later on at lunchtime with his legs mostly recovered,

Darren wandered up to Georgia with the cash.

He passed it on and shook her hand then waddled backed and muttered,

“Mate, I don’t know how she got me in that dash.”

His friends were all surprised, they asked him “why’d you let her win?”

And he laughed ‘til nearly crying at the question.

“Let her win? She nearly killed me!”, he responded with a grin,

And spent the rest of lunchtime mocking the suggestion.