To Be a Champion

The day was finally here, and I could barely contain myself. 

I had been training all year for this race, and everything had come down to this moment. A span of only forty-one seconds would determine whether all my hard work would be rewarded, and I would be a champion.

School that day had been a blur. All I could think about was this one race. If I were at my best, I told myself, no one could beat me. But I had fallen short before, and I knew that THIS TIME I had to get my mind right if I was going to be victorious

Many lesser competitors allow the publicity surrounding fierce competitions against fellow titans to cause them to lose their focus in a race like this, one that might literally be decided by milliseconds. But for us true champions, the excitement that precedes competition feeds our desire, and we cannot wait for the challenge ahead of us.

So, when I walked into the stadium today, with my dark sunglasses covering my eyes, I was “locked and loaded,” my heart beating with anticipation of the challenge ahead of me.

It was “prime time,” baby, and the track was calling my name like it had done so many times before, which resulted in the fanbase that seemed to appear at each of my track meets.

As usual, I entered the stadium with my bag slung over my left shoulder, intentionally revealing my powerful arms for my fellow competitors who might be sitting in the bleachers watching me enter. For the limited few who might still be holding out hope that they might offer a worthwhile challenge in our upcoming race, the “guns” disguised as biceps would soon put these “lesser thans” to sleep. It was almost comical to think that any of them woke up this morning believing that the race would be competitive!

As I walked through the crowd that gathered around me as I made my way to the bottom of the bleachers close to the track, I allowed myself to be distracted long enough to give my fans the obligatory nods as I walked by, all the while acknowledging members of the press that were present and waiting for my arrival as well. It was a distraction, but I understood the price of fame and I embraced it. My community deserved something to be happy about, and why not let it be the ‘feel good’ story about the local kid who excelled at the highest levels of competition in the nation? 

After pausing for a moment at the last bleacher step to oblige the remaining onlookers, I walked straight to the grass field in the center of the track to begin stretching my legs. 

I began my pre-race stretches with full knowledge that this was the first time that my competitors had seen me. For some who had only seen stories about me in local papers, and had never seen me in person, I’m sure they looked in awe. Thinking of how they felt at this moment, I smirked under my breath thinking of them shivering like scared puppies. In my experience, most of these races are won long before the gun sounds. So, I made sure to do some creative stretches, contortions no one had ever seen, which was always an effective way to seal the aura of dominance which was my calling card. 

Taking one final look around at the trolls who would soon face me in head-to-head competition, I realized this would be nothing more than a practice round. For a moment, I wondered whether this race was even worth my time. 

But it was NOW the appointed hour. The lights were bright. The crowd that had been milling about earlier now sat fixated in their seats. The other athletes who were present for other events had now stopped and found seats in the bleachers as well, all waiting to witness real greatness. 

It was ‘HAKIM’ time. 

The race-day formalities got off to a strange start. The stadium announcer, for reasons known only to him, neglected to introduce me alongside my fellow competitors. But, not to worry, I knew all eyes were already on me. 

So, “WHATEVER,” I thought to myself. 

I also thought nothing of the fact that I was not assigned an actual LANE for the race. I understood my value, and I reminded myself right away that I did not need a designated LANE to show my dominance today. I will confess now, however, that it was a little disconcerting that the field judge seemed to laugh at the Converse sneakers I was wearing for the race. But I dismissed his laughter as simple “HATER POLITICS,” which was common from those jealous of all the success I had experienced at only nine years of age. 

I was too good to be distracted by juvenile mind games! 

Now, with my competitors in THEIR lanes, and me prepared to begin the race from my makeshift location two steps away from the starter, the starter allowed a few quick seconds more for all of us to stretch our legs. Then, after a brief pause, he began. 

“On your mark . . . get set . . .” BANG! 

And we were off! 

Since the other competitors had taken up all of the lanes on the track, I had already mapped my own path ACROSS the field, by diagonally crossing the infield area of the track, with the plan to catch up with my fellow racers at the third curve, which was my strategy every time I competed in the 400-meter race. This strategy always had its own challenges, as I had to avoid the long jump pit, maneuver around other equipment and personal items scattered on the field, as well as random athletes sitting or lying down waiting for their own races to begin. Dealing with these clearly calculated barriers to my success today, I forced myself to stay focused and alert. I knew no one would allow me the luxury of an excuse in a race like this, particularly for such a decorated champion, such as myself. This was competition at its highest level, and anything could happen, but I was built for any challenge that came my way. A random piece of trash, a misplaced javelin, or some other random obstacle. I was ready for every obstacle that might be tossed in my path! 

The challenges presented to me in these races, particularly today’s race with so much on the line for my legacy, would have required a heroic effort for anyone else. But I made it across the field as I had anticipated, in record time, and just before the other runners approached that third curve. 

That is when it happened! 

Just as I reached the third curve of the track and planted my foot to turn back towards the finish line, I saw him fall hard to the ground. He was moving so fast when he fell that he appeared to fly for a few seconds before landing almost directly on top of me. 

I was in complete shock! 

Ace was my big brother. Just before he fell, he had been approaching that same third curve from the inside lane. 

Although we fell together in one heap, making it appear from the stands across the field as if I had somehow prompted his fall, my proximity to him at the time was merely coincidental. Unfortunately, however, from where most of the spectators viewed what occurred, the circumstances that led to his fall appeared dramatically different. 

Hundreds of fans seemed to moan in unison and race to the location of the accident. 

As a high school senior, Ace was a 6-foot-4 goliath with what was often described as “world class” speed. With an acceptance letter in hand to attend West Point Military Academy to play football the following fall, and several other scholarships offered in football and track still pending, he was just competing for fun at this point. 

My big brother was exceedingly popular and well-liked by everyone who knew him. He was certainly a great athlete, but his greatest quality was his love of family, friends, and life in general. To me, he even had Superman beat! The fact that his friends would refer to me, his nine-year-old brother, as “Little Ace,” was a badge of honor that I wore with pride every day. He was the best big brother in the world. My reverence for him was so great that it often caused me to hold my breath when he spoke to me, or whenever he would pick me up with his sweaty hands, or every time he teased me until I cried like a baby. 

Ace was second to no one! And his presence in my life had convinced me that I was great too. So, every time he stepped onto the track, I believed in my heart that he was running for me. I was running too, and the adulation towards him was directed at me too. In the deepest part of my heart, I wished I could BE him, even just for those forty-one seconds when he was circling that track at South San Francisco High School. 

As soon as he hit the ground on top of me on that day, the stadium was overcome by pandemonium. Everyone ignored the finish of the race and instead ran to where he and I were lying next to each other on the inside of the track. As the crowd reached us, however, I was slowly pushed away, and I could no longer see Ace. 

I understood right away why all the attention was directed towards him. He was the real star, and he was the one that mattered most at that moment. If he were hurt, it could harm his college plans. So, it made sense to me that I was left alone. But when my mother finally reached the area from her seat in the stands, I realized that this situation was bad for me as well. It was really bad for me! In fact, everyone believed that I had accidentally tripped or distracted Ace, and that I was the reason he had fallen. 

Ma warned me about my behavior when we arrived on this day, like she did for every track meet where Ace was competing. And her message was always clear and stern. 

“Do not distract your brother today! You might trip him!” 

So, Ace’s accident was her greatest fear, and it was my fault! 

“What did you do?” my mother cried out as she walked briskly past me just before arriving at the scene of my crime, and without waiting for my explanation. 

After a quick moment, there were swarms of people around, but I was standing alone, away from the crowd, and away from Ace, and not close enough to my mother to explain. Tears began pouring uncontrollably from my eyes. I wanted to say it wasn’t my fault, but I couldn’t speak it. And there was no one there to listen to me anyway. All eyes and all the attention were directed to Ace! 

Was he going to be able to walk again, I wondered. Was he still going to be able to go to college? Or worse yet, was he mad at me? 

I stood there for what seemed like an hour, but it was likely only a couple of minutes. Everyone seemed to be mad at me as they looked around and assessed the crime scene. I was really scared that Ace was mad at me too. I would have done anything for Ace that day, but his friends and fans had seemed to turn him against me. I wondered, as I stood alone, if he might tell me he didn’t want me to come watch him anymore. Or worse, maybe he no longer wanted to be my big brother. 

As I stood there by myself on the field, watching all the commotion around Ace from afar, I struggled to sort through my emotions. But then something happened when I looked up at the crowd around Ace once more. The crowd around Ace was beginning to separate. As they moved further apart, I could see in the distance that Ace was being carted off the field on a stretcher. 

“Uh oh,” I said to myself. This is going to end much worse than I expected. I was going to be left out here all alone to face everyone. Ace had fallen on ME, but no one was going to believe the truth. This terrible situation was all my fault! 

I was so focused on all that was happening around Ace that I hadn’t even noticed the blood on my knees, which must have happened during our fall. I would ordinarily have been terrified by the sight of my own blood, but my injuries did not matter now. All I cared about was Ace, and I prayed that he was going to live. But from my vantage point, I could not tell how badly he was hurt as he was being carried away. 

As he and those around him were almost out of sight, with my mother walking immediately beside him, I intentionally turned away from the stares of disappointment directed at me from the onlookers that remained. This was too much to endure. I knew that Ace had fallen on ME. I was there when it happened! But I began to convince myself that maybe I HAD caused this accident by running towards him. 

I didn’t know what to do. I wanted to follow Ace and my mother out of the stadium, but I was afraid to move. 

I just stood still, confused. 

That is just when something remarkable happened. 

At first, his voice was so faint it felt like I was imagining things. But the next time it was much louder and his words were unmistakable. 

“Where is Hakim?!” “Where is my brother?!” 

I would know that baritone voice anywhere. It was Ace! 

I stood up on my toes to make it easier for him to see me from a distance, waving my arms frantically, but I still didn’t move, just in case I hadn’t heard him correctly. 

My heart was pounding through my chest! 

Should I tell him where I was? I wondered. Was he going to be angry with me? Would he yell at me in front of all these people who were already mad at me? All of these questions ran through my mind at once. 

But then, almost like it had been rehearsed, the crowd around Ace turned together and looked straight at me. The picture they saw had to be despicable. A nine-year-old boy, cut, bruised and bleeding at the knees, with tears drying on his face, terrified of what was coming next. The crowd around Ace was now only a handful, but to me it felt like the whole world was looking at me. 

“Get him over here,” Asa yelled. 

Not waiting for anyone to say a word, I sprinted across the field as fast as I could to him. 

“Hey, Baby Bro, please hold my cleats and don’t let anybody touch them. And bring my jacket too.” 

“OK,” I responded, as I held my head down. 

His letter jacket was like something a five-star general would wear. It held more than twenty medals from various track meets he had won all over California that year; all pinned to the front like the decorations of a war hero. It was almost too heavy to carry, but I always loved holding it, and he knew it. Maybe this meant that he was not as mad as I thought. Still unsure, however, I avoided eye contact with everyone, looking towards the ground with my heart pounding through my chest. 

But then the unimaginable happened again . . . as I walked beside Ace on the stretcher, my mother on the opposite side, Ace swung his arm out and hit me across the back of my head. 

Shocked from being hit, I thought maybe this was it. Maybe this was the conclusion. He was going to beat me with one hand while lying on a stretcher, and I was going home completely humiliated. 

But then he spoke. 

“We almost did it, Baby Bro! If we had made that last turn, I think we would have set a new record. You have to work at your own pace, so you will have energy for the last leg, but you ran really well! One day, you are going to be a LOT faster than ME.” 

And there it was. 

In less than a minute, Ace had restored me in front of all my fans. I was back in the game. I was committed to doing everything he said so I could get better. We were warriors, leaving the battlefield together. 

All these years later, I still remember how special I felt that day when Ace called me over. Back then, I was simply happy to be walking next to him, pretending I was on his team, pretending everyone in the stadium was there for me. 

This shy little kid actually believed that in every race his brother ran and every football game he played, he was running alongside him. I watched everything he did: how he treated family and friends, how people lit up in his presence, how he would disarm everyone with humor. As frightened as I often felt in a crowd, so much so that I spoke as little as possible to avoid attention from others, Ace’s presence in my life made me feel like I was on top of the world. 

He said I would be better than him one day. Are you kidding me? Better than Superman?

He said that to me in front of everyone, his friends, his teammates, and his coaches. He said I would be better than HIM. 

Ace changed one of the worst days of my life up to that point into one of my best. He changed my life! 

All these years later, I have never forgotten what it meant to be acknowledged and validated by the person whose opinion mattered the most to me. Ace was always present for me, even when he had every good reason not to be. He teased me relentlessly about my shyness, but he worked harder than anyone to help me build the confidence to overcome it. He was not just a big brother saying kind things to me that day as we left the stadium. For some reason, he decided to take responsibility for teaching me things that our parents had taught him and our other siblings, because he knew I was listening to him. 

And even though he never met his namesake, my baby girl Asa Pearl, his actions that day taught me how to love my own child more fully. 

Ace had only pulled his hamstring that day on the track. After a short recovery, we were back training again. A year later he left for college, but by then he had already given me everything I needed. 

Being the best required dedication, and we were committed to being the best together: The Hilliard Brothers! 

The truth is that I thought I knew what it meant to be a champion long before that day. I thought it was about speed, strength, attention, and winning. I thought it was about who the crowd came to see, who got their name called, who crossed the finish line first. 

To my little boy’s eyes, I thought, “That’s what being a champion was.” 

But that day Ace showed me something different. 

The race that mattered most did not end at the finish line. It happened in that messy space between fear and grace, between everybody blaming me and my brother refusing to. It happened when he was the one lying on the stretcher, but somehow, I was the one he was worried about. 

He called for me. He made room for me. He didn’t let me stand there alone as the kid everybody thought had ruined everything. 

That moment had nothing to do with a stopwatch. It had everything to do with who he was to me, and who he decided I was to him. 

People talk about champions like they’re built out of records and trophies. Ace taught me differently. A real champion is the one who uses his moment, his name, and his voice to pull somebody else in from the edge. The one who refuses to leave you out there by yourself when it would be easy to turn away. 

All these years later, that is still the part that stays with me. Not the fall. Not the race. The way he reached for me when he didn’t have to. 

That is who my brother was. 

And if I have ever done anything right as a father, as a brother, as a man, it’s because on that day, Ace showed me that being a champion isn’t just about how fast you run. It’s about who you refuse to leave behind when the crowd is watching.