Chapter 1: In the Beginning

27 June 1983 – West Ware Road, Enfield, Massachusetts

Jeff Knox cracked open an eye to look at his alarm clock, the one he hadn’t set the night before. His sleep-fogged brain registered the bright sunlight streaming in around his shade and curtains as he did so.

“8:45,” the bright red numbers read. Jeff sighed and burrowed back into his pillow. He allowed himself more time to wake up before rolling out of bed. He dropped to his floor and began his morning workout routine.

Jeff began doing as many push-ups and sit-ups as his body would allow not long after baseball season started, three months ago. He could now do close to fifty quick repetitions of each before his muscles began to fatigue, and he’d begun to see definition in those muscles. Today Jeff planned to add a more visible piece to his exercise routine.

Jeff hadn’t told anyone at his former school about his exercise routine, nor how he wanted to change the direction of his life. Starting in the Fourth Grade, those in his class considered him a geek. At first, that was due to his slightly awkward social interactions with his classmates. As the years went by, that label stuck due to his increasing academic successes. While he was friendly with people at the public middle school, there wasn’t anyone to whom he would apply the label of a friend. Jeff would start a new school in the fall, which would offer him a chance at making friends. Jeff got dressed, visited the bathroom, and headed downstairs to the kitchen.

“Morning, Mom,” he said as he entered.

“Hey, Jeff!” Marisa Knox replied from the breakfast nook, smiling at her oldest.

Marisa loved sitting by the windows overlooking their expansive backyard, taking in the scene regardless of the weather or time of year. Great Quabbin Hill dominated that view. A native of nearby Pelham, Marisa shuddered when she remembered how Boston’s growing thirst for water nearly destroyed the towns in this picturesque valley.

“What do you have planned for your first weekday of vacation?” she asked as Jeff got himself a glass of OJ and a bowl of cereal.

In contrast to the region’s public schools, which let out for the summer on Friday the 24th, private Thompkins School let out about a week and a half earlier. Marisa taught Sixth Grade math there.

“I’m going to bike over to the Village and talk to someone at Quabbin Runners about running shoes and how to get started with a running program. I saw a help wanted sign in the window of Bilzarian’s Hardware, so I thought I’d stop in and check that out too, while I’m nearby.”

“Not giving yourself any time off, are you?” Marisa asked with a raised eyebrow.

“I know it looks that way, Mom,” Jeff sighed, “but I plan to do my workouts in the morning. That will give me plenty of time to do stuff during the rest of the day unless I wind up with a job at Bilzarian’s. I’m trying out for the soccer team when I get to Thompkins. They’ve routinely got some of the best sports teams in the state, so I’ve got to be able to hang with the others if I want a chance to play. I’ll need the extra stamina when hockey and baseball roll around, too.”

“Honey,” Marisa said in an understanding voice, “I just want you to be able to enjoy your summer, that’s all.”

“I will, Mom,” Jeff assured her. “It’s just that going to Thompkins this fall will give me a new chance to make a first impression. I want to make a good one.”

Marisa smiled at her son. She saw his frustration over the last few years as he struggled to overcome the geek label. She prayed that Thompkins would be as good for him as he hoped.

“Are you going to be running on these roads?” she asked.

“No, thanks,” Jeff mumbled around a mouthful of cereal. “At least not until I get used to running. The roads around here are too narrow for my taste. Even though I’ve ridden my bike on them for years, that thought still makes me nervous. I’ll ride over to Thompkins and run on their track while I’m getting started, as long as it’s not a problem.”

“Problem?” Marisa snorted. “You’ve been in and out of that school your entire life! Almost the entire staff knows you!”

Jeff was going to be a faculty kid at Thompkins where his mother taught, something he wasn’t sure he’d like. While Marisa and her husband Joe discussed keeping their kids in the public school system until they left for college, it was evident that academics wouldn’t challenge Jeff and his younger sister Kara unless they went to a school as rigorous as Thompkins.

He rinsed his cereal bowl and glass and put them in the dishwasher. (“The sink? Is that where they go?” “No, Mom.”) Jeff filled his bike’s water bottle and set out for the Enfield town center. The bike ride from southeastern Enfield – known as Enfield Plains – to Enfield Village, the town center, was about a two and a half mile ride.

People waved at Jeff as he passed, including people in their cars. This was something he enjoyed about the valley, the fact that everybody knew everybody, and he tried hard not to be a dirtbag because of that. He’d start high school in the fall, so he only had four more years to enjoy it. Even if he went to UMass, just a few towns to the west, he’d still have to move away from the valley he called home his whole life.

Never a very populous region, census estimates put the population of the Swift River Valley towns at about twelve thousand people. Zoning laws enacted in the wake of Boston’s attempted land grab were strict. There were no malls, strip or otherwise, allowed in the four valley towns – Dana, Greenwich, Prescott, and Enfield. Neither were they allowed in four others nearby that also wanted to preserve their rural character – Petersham, New Salem, Shutesbury, and Pelham. The towns of Ware and Belchertown solicited the Commonwealth to improve Route 9 through their municipalities years ago, and strip malls abounded along that east-west road.

The valley towns still harbored a strong distrust of state involvement in their region. Not all interactions between the State House and the region’s communities were terrible, however. Boston was still quite responsive to requests from the area thanks to constant reminders of what the state and the Metropolitan District Commission – the water rights agency for Metro Boston – tried to do. One such example was that the Commonwealth approved requests to give the area’s sheriff departments more police-like authority. The sheriff’s departments mainly ran the jails in Massachusetts. The sheriffs now augmented local departments, which were almost a regional police force in and of themselves.

Entering the Enfield Village district required Jeff to pay more attention to his riding. Traffic, such as traffic was in the valley, was heavier in the center of town. Where East Street joins Main Street, Jeff turned north on Main to follow Routes 21 and 34. The road followed the general route of the Boston and Albany Railroad’s old Athol branch line, which ran beside it. That branch line was now being re-purposed as the B&A Bike Trail. Once in the center proper, Jeff waved to the firefighters working outside their station across Main Street. Many of their kids had been Jeff’s classmates over the years.

He parked his bike in front of the Quabbin Runners storefront and locked it to a post. Entering the former car dealership, Jeff recognized Mr. O’Mara, his gym teacher at Enfield Middle School, talking to another man. While the store name said ‘runners,’ Jeff saw a wide selection of equipment for all of the sports played in the area. Family stores abounded in the valley. Large chain stores were noticeably absent. Mr. O’Mara noticed Jeff approaching the dizzying display of running shoes on the back wall of the store.

“Well now!” the older gentleman boomed. “‘Tis a good thing to see such a friendly face!” Sean O’Mara held out his meaty hand and shook with Jeff.

“Hi, Mr. O’Mara. How was the first weekend of your summer?”

“Boyo, I’ve retired from teaching,” the man admitted, drawing a look of shock from Jeff.

“Retired?”

“‘Tis true, I’m sorry ta say. I dinna want a lot of fanfare when I finally decided ta go. I did tell Mr. Davies ahead of time, but I turned in my papers this morning.” Mr. Davies was the middle school’s principal.

“Well, I feel sorry for the kids coming up behind me,” Jeff said sadly. “Your gym class was one of the more fun classes I had at Enfield Middle. What are you going to be doing now?”

“If he makes it through training, he’ll be my newest salesman!” the younger man joked.

“Jeff, the man pretending to be a comedian over here is my oldest son Tim. Tim, this fine young lad is Jeff Knox. He’ll be going to Thompkins next year. His ma teaches math there.” Jeff shook hands with the younger O’Mara.

“Good to meet you, Jeff. Other than the opportunity to trade tall tales with this grumpy old Gus here, what brings you into my store today?” Tim asked.

“I’d like to start running, Mr. O’Mara, but I don’t know what kind of shoe is the best, how much they cost, or how to get started with a program.”

“Then you’ve come to the right place, Jeff! The question isn’t really what shoe is the best, though. It’s what shoe is the best for you?”

“That makes sense.”

“Come over here so I can watch your feet as you run and figure out how to answer that question. What sport are you training for?”