“Where it counts.”
Kara winced. “There are laws against that,” she said.
“I was just a kid,” said Kneecap.
For a few moments, nobody said anything. Kara and Kneecap chewed their raisins.
“Speaking of nicknames,” Kneecap said, turning to me, “I figured out your superhero name.”
“What is it?” I said.
She smiled at me. “The Lactator.”
“The what?” I said.
“Isn’t that one of your superpowers?” she asked. “Your body makes a ton of lactic acid, right?”
“No,” I said. “It doesn’t make much.”
“Oh,” said Kneecap. “Then it’s not such a good name.”
Kara repacked her bag of raisins. “I haven’t got a clue what you kids are talking about,” she said.
“Wait a second,” said Kneecap. “What about Ultra Boy? You’re a boy, and you run ultra-marathons.”
“This is the first one I’ve run,” I said. “And I haven’t even finished it yet.”
“Details, details,” said Kneecap. “I think Ultra Boy rocks.”
I looked down the mountain. A line of colourful dots was bobbing up the trail we’d just climbed. Other runners.
“Break time’s over,” said Kara. “Ready to push on?”
“No thanks,” said Kneecap. “My work here is done. You two will have to carry on without me.”
I almost felt an ache, hearing those words. “You could come with us to the next rest stop,” I said.
“How far is that?” asked Kneecap.
“Seventeen miles.”
Kneecap laughed. “I’ve had enough exercise for one day,” she said. “Actually, I’ve had enough for the whole year!”
Kara slung her hydration pack over her shoulders. “Nice meeting you, Kneecap,” she said.
“Ditto,” said Kneecap.
The two of them high-fived. Kneecap gave me a military salute. I saluted back, and then she turned and walked away.
“Be careful on the ledges,” I shouted.
“Yeah, yeah,” she replied.
When she rounded the edge of Shark’s Fin, the wind blew her hair straight back and her face turned golden brown in the sunshine. Then she dropped out of sight and was gone.
“Cool kid,” said Kara. “Not much of a runner though.”
“Come on,” I said. “We’re losing time.”
A DIFFERENT KIND OF SPORT
SYDNEY WATSON WALTERS: How long have you and Kneecap been friends?
QUINN: Ever since she moved to our neighbourhood. We’re in the same year at school and we used to sit together on the bus.
And of course, we started the UHL together.
SYDNEY WATSON WALTERS: The UHL?
QUINN: Last year at school, Kneecap made this amazing discovery. She kicked a quarter across the floor of the boys’ washroom, and it ricocheted off the rounded lip where the floor meets the wall and flew into the air. Somehow she got the angle just right and the quarter landed right in the urinal! It was a perfect goal. And that’s how urinal hockey was born.
SYDNEY WATSON WALTERS: So UHL stands for …
QUINN: The Urinal Hockey League. We had eight teams — The Whiz Kids, The Main Vein Drainers, The Double Flushers … We even had an anthem for the league.
SYDNEY WATSON WALTERS: Someone wrote a song about urinal hockey?
QUINN: I did! We used to sing it before all the games. It goes to thetune of “God Save the Queen.”
God save our humble can,
Smelly and pee-stained can,
God save our can!
Lead us victorious,
Yellow and glorious,
Please don’t flatulate over us,
God save our can!
SYDNEY WATSON WALTERS: That’s very … creative!
QUINN: We had twenty games in the regular season, then the playoffs after that. We played two on two, with 5-minute periods. Whenever someone scored, the losing goalie would have to pick the quarter out of the urinal with his fingers.
SYDNEY WATSON WALTERS: Sounds … um … disgusting.
QUINN: Everyone washed their hands right after. I also invented the “fresh flush” rule.
SYDNEY WATSON WALTERS: And Kneecap was involved in this? Even though the games were played in the boys’ washroom?
QUINN: Kneecap never had any problem with that. None of
Kara winced. “There are laws against that,” she said.
“I was just a kid,” said Kneecap.
For a few moments, nobody said anything. Kara and Kneecap chewed their raisins.
“Speaking of nicknames,” Kneecap said, turning to me, “I figured out your superhero name.”
“What is it?” I said.
She smiled at me. “The Lactator.”
“The what?” I said.
“Isn’t that one of your superpowers?” she asked. “Your body makes a ton of lactic acid, right?”
“No,” I said. “It doesn’t make much.”
“Oh,” said Kneecap. “Then it’s not such a good name.”
Kara repacked her bag of raisins. “I haven’t got a clue what you kids are talking about,” she said.
“Wait a second,” said Kneecap. “What about Ultra Boy? You’re a boy, and you run ultra-marathons.”
“This is the first one I’ve run,” I said. “And I haven’t even finished it yet.”
“Details, details,” said Kneecap. “I think Ultra Boy rocks.”
I looked down the mountain. A line of colourful dots was bobbing up the trail we’d just climbed. Other runners.
“Break time’s over,” said Kara. “Ready to push on?”
“No thanks,” said Kneecap. “My work here is done. You two will have to carry on without me.”
I almost felt an ache, hearing those words. “You could come with us to the next rest stop,” I said.
“How far is that?” asked Kneecap.
“Seventeen miles.”
Kneecap laughed. “I’ve had enough exercise for one day,” she said. “Actually, I’ve had enough for the whole year!”
Kara slung her hydration pack over her shoulders. “Nice meeting you, Kneecap,” she said.
“Ditto,” said Kneecap.
The two of them high-fived. Kneecap gave me a military salute. I saluted back, and then she turned and walked away.
“Be careful on the ledges,” I shouted.
“Yeah, yeah,” she replied.
When she rounded the edge of Shark’s Fin, the wind blew her hair straight back and her face turned golden brown in the sunshine. Then she dropped out of sight and was gone.
“Cool kid,” said Kara. “Not much of a runner though.”
“Come on,” I said. “We’re losing time.”
A DIFFERENT KIND OF SPORT
SYDNEY WATSON WALTERS: How long have you and Kneecap been friends?
QUINN: Ever since she moved to our neighbourhood. We’re in the same year at school and we used to sit together on the bus.
And of course, we started the UHL together.
SYDNEY WATSON WALTERS: The UHL?
QUINN: Last year at school, Kneecap made this amazing discovery. She kicked a quarter across the floor of the boys’ washroom, and it ricocheted off the rounded lip where the floor meets the wall and flew into the air. Somehow she got the angle just right and the quarter landed right in the urinal! It was a perfect goal. And that’s how urinal hockey was born.
SYDNEY WATSON WALTERS: So UHL stands for …
QUINN: The Urinal Hockey League. We had eight teams — The Whiz Kids, The Main Vein Drainers, The Double Flushers … We even had an anthem for the league.
SYDNEY WATSON WALTERS: Someone wrote a song about urinal hockey?
QUINN: I did! We used to sing it before all the games. It goes to thetune of “God Save the Queen.”
God save our humble can,
Smelly and pee-stained can,
God save our can!
Lead us victorious,
Yellow and glorious,
Please don’t flatulate over us,
God save our can!
SYDNEY WATSON WALTERS: That’s very … creative!
QUINN: We had twenty games in the regular season, then the playoffs after that. We played two on two, with 5-minute periods. Whenever someone scored, the losing goalie would have to pick the quarter out of the urinal with his fingers.
SYDNEY WATSON WALTERS: Sounds … um … disgusting.
QUINN: Everyone washed their hands right after. I also invented the “fresh flush” rule.
SYDNEY WATSON WALTERS: And Kneecap was involved in this? Even though the games were played in the boys’ washroom?
QUINN: Kneecap never had any problem with that. None of
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