My pace has increased, my heart beats in unison with my stride, I measure my efforts by the rate of my inhalations. Careful not to overdo it, I know that a change in terrain stands between a meltdown and maintaining my pace. The road ahead looks level. The rolling hills behind me took their toll and now I need this. Water and food are irrelevant. Screams of encouragement flowing from behind the barriers are meaningless.
The newspaper was brief. It stated dates, family, and career. Nothing else. I could tell the phone call was something out of the ordinary. The tone of her voice was different. She sat down the way, out of sight. She kept to herself. The bruise and swollen stomach were the only things we had to work with. Her last day wasn’t easy for anyone. Tears and anxiety were on everyone’s sleeves. Roll ‘em up and get back to it. The stone is turning. There’s work to be done.
The map shows flat terrain next to the creek. It’s been a long day. The pass with the dead horse along the trail, the mosquitoes by the creek, the lightning, the dead end. A few bites of food and I shuffle my feet forward. This looks good. She doesn’t have a good feeling about it though. The creek continues on the map. It looks flat by the creek. The bushes crowd the creek and getting water proves difficult. It stays flat by the creek. I turn back on to the trail. Why don’t campsites present themselves when you need them? I settle on an isolated spot behind the monolith to the north. After dinner, we pack up and move the site across the trail towards the water. The mosquitoes are terrible. I toss and turn in the humidity.
I refuse to look at the clock. I know it’s been long enough that the next turn is the last. The muscles in my legs are tightening after each stride and the slightest imperfection in my step pushes me dangerously close to cramping. The turn is approaching. As my hips swivel I look upward from my fixed gaze at the asphalt. The last turn is at the top of the hill and my heart sinks. How did she see it? Why don’t I see it? The turn isn’t even the finish. There’s more. I struggle to the top and face down the last stretch with determination. The seemingly level grade pushes back on my legs as I run for the finish. The clock counts down toward my worst case scenario and it doesn’t even push me faster. The last hill stole everything I had. I cross the line and steal a look at my watch. One minute ahead of my worst case scenario and nearly ten minutes off my goal, my deflated body is jubilant just to be done.
Her race ended early. I didn’t see it coming. No one did. The newspaper clipping was brief. It included names, time, and age. I didn’t see her name. No one did.
