Page 49 of Runner 13
Now Emilio shakes his head. ‘It’s my fault. It’s all my fault.’
‘What? How?’
‘I shouldn’t have cleared him to run. His resting ECG showed evidence of pre-excitation – an abnormality that I was concerned about. I sent him for a new one but he was so affronted that I even asked. He’s one of Morocco’s top runners! He trains out here all the time; he’s won the Marathon des Sables Legendary six times – I was delighted when the second ECG seemed fine. I gave him the go-ahead. But I should have trusted my instincts.’
‘You think it was his heart?’
‘What else could it be? But we will find out from thehospital soon enough – if those photographers hadn’t found him using the drone, we may have been too late.’
I think about the dunes, how easy it would be for one man to be missed. If he was alone, with no ability to activate his beacon … he could have simply died without anyone knowing. The thought sends a shiver through my body.
‘He seemed dehydrated at the checkpoint,’ I say. ‘I had to give him some of my water. I debated alerting one of the doctors, but, like you said, Nabil is a legend and I … well, I didn’t want to ruin his race.’
Emilio nods, distracted now, his radio crackling. The bright screen of a laptop catches my eye from behind him and I wonder if he’ll let me send a quick ‘I love you’ message to Ethan. I know it’s against the rules. But two runners have come close to death already on this race. I try to ignore my gut screaming at me that I could be next.
‘And Jason, do you know how he’s doing?’ I ask.
‘Sorry, I have to go. Another emergency beacon has been activated.’
‘You’re kidding?’
‘I wish I was. It’s too hot, and people aren’t prepared.’
‘And this is day one.’
‘This is day one,’ he repeats, his eyes looking dark. ‘Take care of yourself, Adrienne.’
He gestures for me to follow him out of the medical tent, clearly not wanting to leave me in there on my own.
Back in my tent, I take my time inspecting my gear after the first stage. Word spreads that Boones’s announcement will happen at seven p.m., just before the sun sets – and about half an hour after the cut-off time for the funrunners. Anyone who finishes after that will be disqualified. I wonder how many people will be on the starting line tomorrow.
I finally have a moment to look at Jason’s pages. It feels like a lifetime ago that I ripped them from the notebook, but it’s only been a few hours. His scribble is almost illegible, impossible for me to decipher.
But a few things stand out:Booneshounds. The community of Boones superfans. I guess Glenn might have been one of them back in the day, given how obsessive he had become about Boones’s races. Maybe it was one of Glenn’s online friends who wanted to avenge him?
RR BLACK. I assume that stands for Range Rover. The car that struck my son.
And those words –STILL WANTSREVENGE– which sends another set of shivers down my spine.
None of this helps me without context. I need him to explain. I’m furious with myself for not listening to him when I had the chance.
It’s an anxious wait, but before I know it it’s almost seven. I walk with Mariam and Farouk to the centre of the bivouac, where – once again – Boones is sat inside his vehicle, waiting for the crowd to gather.
Farouk is hardly able to keep still, his hands opening and closing into fists.
‘I don’t like this at all,’ says Mariam.
Boones is punctual, my analogue watch showing exactly seven p.m. when he clambers on to the roof of his car.
‘Friends,’ he says. ‘I have news we all didn’t want to hear. We have lost one of our family. I had to wait to tell you all until his loved ones had been informed, but it’s true. NabilMuhammad Alami passed this afternoon. He suffered a heart attack in the dunes and unfortunately could not be resuscitated.’
The reaction is immediate – the entire bivouac rippling with collective shock, sadness, disbelief. Mariam and I turn to Farouk, who buries his face in his hands.
Boones waits for the wave to hit the very outer edges of the circle. When he speaks, his voice is soft. ‘I personally am devastated by this loss. He might have been Hot & Sandy’s first winner. But alas, it was not meant to be. We will have a minute of silence to remember our comrade.’ He holds his hands up.
Silence has never felt more difficult. I want to shout out, to ask questions, to cry. It seems so unjust. I think back to what the doctor said, about the abnormality on his ECG. His reluctance to disqualify one of the front runners. Then there’s how he looked at the checkpoint: tired. Wrung out. I should have spoken up. Expressed my concern.
Farouk spins on his heels, striding back in the direction of the tents. I move to follow but Mariam grabs my hand, giving a small shake of her head. She interlaces her fingers with mine and squeezes them tight. She looks on the edge of tears too; she knew Nabil much better than I did, so I clasp my other hand over top and stay strong – for her.
