Page 59 of Runner 13
He has a megaphone in his hands, which he brings to his mouth. ‘Attention, runners. My name is Henry Roth and I’m the CEO of Blixt Energy.I’m thrilled that I have the immense privilege of starting today’s stage.’
My jaw drops. I’m not the only one. I don’t know what kind of reception Henry was expecting, but judging by the look on his face it wasn’t stunned silence.
‘You what?’ shouts someone from the crowd.
That breaks the tension, and now everyone is talking.
‘Where is Boones?’ Mariam mutters from beside me.
I’m not sure how Henry could have heard her, but he answers the question anyway. He shouts into the megaphone to be heard. ‘Don’t worry – Boones will return to the race this afternoon. But we at Blixt are proud to be the principal sponsors of Hot & Sandy. We know each one of you needs more than just a mantra to get you through a race like this. That’s why at each of the checkpoints today,you’ll be offered one of our Blixt Energy drinks in addition to water.’
‘This doesn’t sound like Boones at all to me,’ says Mariam. ‘Something is wrong.’
A creeping, prickly form of dread creeps its way up my spine. Mariam’s right. This doesn’t feel good. Some trick is coming our way, and there’s nothing I can do to prepare for it. All I can do is run my own race.
Focus on your own feet. I bet Blixt would be delighted to know it’s a mantra that’s going to see me through.
‘Anyway, without further ado … what is it that Boones says again?’ He looks down, consulting a notebook he has in his hand. Then he looks back up to the runners. ‘Well, all right then,’ he says.
And the race is on once more.
Mariam is off like a shot. Farouk’s words – that he wants someone with honour to win – must have inspired her as she seems more determined than ever. I keep my pace more in check, remaining well within my capabilities. If Boones does have surprises for us, then I need to have some energy stored to draw from when they come.
The first few miles take us across a wide desert plain, but it’s far from the barren, lifeless habitat I thought it would be. Little blooms cover the ground, tufts of purple and white flowers sprouting from the parched earth, hardy tendrils searching out the sun. There are larger bushes too, clumps of low twiggy branches with tiny leaves and spikes that risk penetrating the soles of our shoes. I know some people use the bushes as a bit of cover for a bathroom break – but it is a risk. There are living creatures in the desert, many of them venomous, and they’re drawn to the shade.
Running makes the world seem so big and yet so small. It allows me to see things I would never be able to otherwise, go to places unreachable by any other means – my feet taking me deeper into a landscape than a car – or any form of transport – ever could.
It’s a way for me to mark the passage of time. When I’m running, no day is the same. I feel more present, more aware of my surroundings, more focused on the changing of the seasons. Running means I see more sunrises and sunsets, means I notice when lambs are born, and when the first leaves turn from green to auburn and gold.
The jebels are just smudges on the horizon but they are the perfect example. Remote, intimidating. Inaccessible by car. Not even helicopters can land up there. But with a bit of leg power I can climb to the summit. If we get into trouble, the only way down is on our feet.
What happened to Nabil is another reminder that ultrarunning can be dangerous. Deadly. But the past few years have made me redefine what is ‘safe’ and what is ‘dangerous’.
I used to think that my home was safe. The threatening notes proved that wrong.
That the walk to the park was safe. Ethan’s accident went against that.
That my running club – presided over by a coach I’d known and trusted most of my life – was safe. But it ended up being more dangerous than I could ever imagine.
I fly through the first checkpoint. I feel unleashed. The mountains loom even closer on the horizon, so I run through a mental checklist of how I’m feeling. I sense a tiny bit of weakness in my legs, a gnawing in my stomach,so I dig out a packet of dried mango to give me a burst of energy before the climb.
The terrain starts to become more undulating, large boulders that have crumbled from the mountainside littering the ground. There’s no defined route up the mountain – we can pick our own – so I chose the most direct path I can. As the way becomes steeper, I’m forced into switchbacks, slowing my pace to a fast walk so I don’t lose my footing.
I glance back at the view, taking a moment to appreciate where we’ve come from. I spot Hiroko and Alex – still running as a pair – tackling the jebel using a different path. But there’s someone else coming up the trail, following my line. A man. I squint, but I don’t recognize him. Only … something feels oddly familiar about his gait.
My heart starts racing.
Who could it be? He’s wearing one of the fun runner numbers – I can see the blue background even from this distance. That means he must be experienced enough to somehow catch up with the elites. Shit. One of Glenn’s friends?
Still wants revenge.
This could be it. The person who tried to hurt my son all those years ago, who is angry I’m making my return to the sport, hunting me down.
I stop lingering, disturbed by how quickly the man is moving. I turn back to the jebel, scanning for the best route to the top. There’s a difficult steep, sandy climb ahead. If I divert to the cliff wall, I can make use of a rope, strung up as an aid for the treacherous terrain. But using the rope will slow me down.
I grit my teeth and power directly up the slope, trying to remain light on my feet while fighting the unstable ground. With the sun beating on my back, I regret not choosing the rope, which would have kept me closer to the cliff face and the shade. But I keep my head down and carry on moving, using my hands to propel me, until I finally reach where the sand becomes stone and a gulley is cut into the jebel itself. Rock the colour of burnt sienna rises on either side of me, cradling the route and offering welcome shade. It’s tightly enclosed, the path hidden from view. I glance over my shoulder before I disappear into the mountain and watch as the runner reaches out to the rope and tests its strength. He’s gaining on me, but I’ll be able to move much faster than him now.
My footsteps echo, and I become acutely aware of the sound of my own breathing. It’s a little laboured, the closeness of the rock – and the man behind – stressing me out. I need to get up to the top and the open air.
