The Last Road Race by John A. Tures
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| Image | Angela Roma |
The Last Road Race
There’s nothing like the Fourth of July in Atlanta when tens of thousands of runners descend upon the Capital of the South for the annual 10k run known as the Peachtree Road Race. Unbeknownst to most sprinters, this year’s contest features a duel between an aged jogger and an ageless rival, a desperate sprint to the finish line in a life-or-death struggle.
Teddy stepped out of his Decatur town home at 5:15 am sharp. Promises to see him off by his wife, kids, and their grandkids visiting from Florida wouldn’t be kept. They had no idea how early you had to leave to get to the starting line on time.
At the end of the block, Hank was waiting for him, sporting a rainbow headband below his white curly hair, with a white tank top contrasting with his dark skin. “Glad you made it this year,” the octogenarian rasped as they elbow-bumped.
As both strode purposefully toward the MARTA Station, they could see other joggers decked out in patriotic gear congregating, disciples gathered for a revival of runners. And they didn’t want to be late for this service.
Even in the darkness, a flash of motion caught Teddy’s eye, making him jump back. “What’s up?” Hank looked at his friend in surprise.
“There’s a guy in a dark hoodie, behind the Magnolia tree,” Teddy whispered, trying to get a better look at the figure.
Hank squinted in the direction Teddy was pointing. “Nobody there,” he responded, sotto voce. “You seein’ ghosts?”
Teddy shivered. “Must be getting jumpy.” He threw another glance back at the tree but could see nothing now. Figure, no. Movement, yes. Teddy was sure he saw the guy, yesterday on their block before the thunderstorm, and earlier at the running expo at the Georgia World Congress Center they attended to get their running numbers. He didn’t believe in coincidences. This had to be something.
“Eyes playing tricks on me, I hope,” he added.
Hank gave him a look, but they began a conversation about work as they reached the stairs. Breeze cards already purchased the previous day, they glided past the electronic gates and headed down to the platform to catch the train. Hank eagerly talked about the Atlanta Food Bank and the wave of corporate volunteers he was coordinating, while Teddy threw nervous glancesback up, to see if the guy in the hoodie and black slacks was following them.
The rail car arrived with a screech, and he and the other Decatur runners pressed into the packed car. “I’ll do my best to get volunteers from Live Oak Life Insurance to help out,” Teddy promised. “Now, are you ever going to switch from term life insurance to whole life insurance?”
As they reached Five Points in downtown Atlanta, it was time to switch to a North Line train. When they threaded the stairs and escalators with the crowd of joggers, he spotted Hoodie following him, purposefully. Must have jumped onto a different car. He asked Hank to move farther down the platform as the MARTA train arrived, pretended to board the car, and then pulled back suddenly. “This one’s too crowded,” he explained “Let’s catch the next one.”
Hoodie spotted his error—and yes, Teddy could now see just the chin with a beard on his pursuer, but the door closed before he could get off. Teddy gave him a snappy salute but froze when he saw the yellow-gleaming eyes from within the hood. He hoped they wouldn’t meet again on the course.
The next rail car at Five Points was packed as well. Standing room only. As they held onto poles, Teddy had to plan something. He knew his pursuer was likely to get off at the Lenox Square Mall, closer to the race’s starting line. “Let’s hop off at Buckhead,” he suggested. “We’re here early enough, and we can stretch our legs before the run. I want to make this race one of my best.”
Hank gave him a curious look but shrugged. “I guess so,” he agreed. “Bathroom lines aren’t likely to be as long. That matters. We ain’t getting any younger.”
His friend turned eighty in May, only ten years ahead of Teddy. Neither was thinking of retirement, and both still loved these races. But nobody could outrun time itself.
As they waited for the port-a-johns, Teddy began to wonder. What if Hoodie had spotted his running number? He’d know which wave to track down his quarry then. Better make a change of plans, he thought.
“Hey, Hank. Instead of our ‘X’ wave, how about we move up?”
In response to his friend’s raised eyebrows, Teddy explained, “They got a yellow flag up already because of the heat. If they shift to the red flag for high danger, they’ll make us walk it. And if it goes to black flag, they’ll shut down the course. Liz and the family are going to meet me at the finish line, you know.”
Hank took a deep breath. “It’s supposed to be hot as blazes today. Think we can make it at a faster pace?”
Teddy looked up. Already, the loudspeakers were blaring the iconic “Chariots of Fire” soundtrack from Vangelis.
“Yeah, I think today’s the day,” he stated.
They made their way to wave “M,” considerably closer to the starting line. They eluded the security guard who was more concerned about sniffing out alcohol than checking race numbers.
“Five minutes!” the loudspeaker blared.
“Let’s stretch,” Teddy suggested. Hank began to touch his toes. On his first thrust, Teddy bumped into a runner with a red jogging bra and dark blue shorts. “Sorry.”
“No problem.” She smiled, showing that their collision was partly due to her stretching routine as well. A friend with frizzy red hair came over to them.
“I’m Sherry,” the redhead announced, “My pal Gabriela Rodriguez—G-Rod to us—has a reason to run her best today.” With her arm around the Hispanic woman, Sherry pointed to a button pinned to a strap leading to her friend’s shoulder. “I will outrun my Ex today,” the message promised.
“She’s gonna whip his cheatin’ a—”
“Sherry! You promised, no swearing.”
“He and that skank he’s seeing are in Wave K,” the redhead persisted. “But we’re gonna pass them by and blow kisses.”
Teddy laughed with the modern-day Thelma and Louise before him. “You get ‘em, girls! Hank and I will be there to help you celebrate at the end.”
“Ten seconds!” the announcer promised.
Five fighter jets screamed overhead, and the runners moved forward. Sherry and G-Rod dashed off as though trying to qualify for the 10k at the Olympics. Teddy and Hank surged ahead, under the massive flag dangled by a crane. Then Kenny Loggins’ iconic rock hit “Danger Zone” blared out over the loudspeakers. Teddy found himself almost catching up with the two ladies chasing G-Rod’s ex.
“Whoa, man, pace yourself!” Hank called out, struggling to catch up. “We just gotta finish, you know.”
The thrill of the race always got the life insurance marketer’s blood up. But Teddy had another reason to get off to a good start. He had to finish ahead of Hoodie, in case the dark figure had worked his way up from the X wave.
Mile 1 passed by as crowds of spectators waved American flags and offered cups of Gatorade to thirsty runners.
“Runners, come in for a free beer” a sign promised. Teddy and Hank shared a laugh.
“Maybe we would, if we didn’t have some place to be,” Hank noted.
Teddy nodded, then froze.
Hoodie had found him.
How could he? With the throng of spectators and sprinters, that figure with the hidden face had tracked him down. He was just to the left of two guys in Revolutionary War costumes. Hoodie seemed to be suffering little from the heat and humidity.
Teddy had a bad feeling his pursuer would take him out. He needed a plan. Ahead, he spotted St. Philip’s Cathedral. A congregation had assembled on the lawn, kneeling in prayer. Three figures in black robes sprinkled holy water from shakers on some of the joggers.
Teddy, a Catholic, jogged toward the church. “Padre!” He called out. “A little blessing?”
The priest smiled, flicked his wrist, and drops of water splashed on his brow. The holy man smiled and made a sign of the cross. When Teddy looked back, Hank was running in the center of the road, shaking his head. But Hoodie seemed to have vanished.
On they sprinted downhill, past the giant sign indicating that it was Mile 2. Teddy checked his Garmin. Wow—they were ahead of their usual pace.
But the sun reemerged with a vengeance as if making up for being blocked by buildings earlier. Teddy’s shirt clung to his body, soaking the paper number pinned to it. Hank’s rainbow headband darkened. Teddy remembered a favorite joke of Hank’s from his service at Ft. Bliss in El Paso, Texas, where a cow skull on a t-shirt told a prospector “At least it’s a dry heat.”
As Teddy’s pace slowed, he heard footsteps behind him, despite all of the noise of the downtown Atlanta running celebration. He spun around but didn’t see Hoodie. As soon as he resumed his jog, he could hear the footsteps again. It was like that “Red Light, Green Light” game played as children, with deadlier consequences.
Teddy sighed as they passed Mile 3, almost the halfway point for a 10k. Their times were good.
“Twenty-eight minutes,” he called to his running partner.
“Yeah,” Hank wheezed. “But we still got ‘Cardiac Hill.’”
Some gave the sharp incline that name because of all the hospitals, pharmacies, and clinics nearby. Others called it “The Widowmaker.” Some now walked, while others staggered. A few quit on the spot, seeking medical assistance.
When Teddy’s pace slowed, his Hoodie sightings became more frequent. His rival seemed unfazed by the hot weather, like an unrelenting assassin.
As they staggered past Mile 4, Hoodie seemed to be gaining. They hit the Olympic bridge overpass, a reminder of those 1996 games that nearly took his life. Hank’s wife Joanna got food poisoning from a meal near Centennial Park. She, Hank, Liz, and Teddy left early that fateful night when Eric Rudolph set off his bomb that killed two and maimed so many, physically and psychologically. Maybe Hoodie’s mission was to administer the kiss of death to one who escaped it years earlier.
There was a second incline before reaching Mile 5. “No more uphills,” Hank gasped in relief as the course stretched through downtown Atlanta. The skyscrapers and hotels offered some relief from the sun, but there was nowhere to hide from the humidity.
Teddy and Hank dodged a couple in banana costumes as they headed toward the last water stations of the course.
Then disaster struck.
Whether it was several slippery wax cups on the road, an unfilled pothole he missed, or an elevated curb, Teddy found himself falling.
Wham! The aged runner slammed down so hard that he bounced a few inches off the ground before returning to the road. One knee smashed into the curb, while the other found the black asphalt. Palms kept his head from banging into the road, but both hands were now covered in white scrapes, black flecks, and red blood.
Screams summoned two Red Cross volunteers, who knelt by his side. On his stomach, he could see Hoodie grinning and slowing his pace, approaching his quarry. Oh no. He was so close. He had almost made it.
“Teddy!” Hank cried out, running over.
Suddenly, he remembered picking up his youngest grandchild from Sunday school. The small girl had held out her drawing of a devil. It meant to say “Not Today, Satan,” but she had accidentally written “Not Today, Stan.” He had laughed so hard that his wife thought he had a coronary.
Teddy wasn’t done yet.
The life insurance marketer struggled to his feet, dodged attempts of Red Cross volunteers to stop him, and rejoined Hank on the course. He waved goodbye to the volunteers, and Hoodie, whose screech became fainter.
“Not today, Stan!” he called out to a disappearing Hoodie.
“Crazy ol’ coot!” a volunteer laughed.
“Let’s finish this race, for old time’s sake,” Teddy insisted. Hank merely nodded and kept chugging along. Even Hoodie dropped behind.
As they reached Mile 6 the two prepared for the last sprint to Piedmont Park and the finish line. Teddy looked up as other runners slowed their pace. Glancing up at the catwalk in surprise, he saw to his dismay that the red flag was now out. Walking was mandatory.
“Hey, stop running you two!” someone yelled from above.
But the two ignored them. They were so close. “Hank, we’re gonna make it.” Teddy beamed as they reached the rainbow design crossing the street, but Hank said nothing. He could hear the music from Piedmont Park. “Eye of the Tiger” by Survivor.
“They’re playing our song, Hank.”
But Hank did not acknowledge him.
“Hank?”
Suddenly, Hank slowed, swayed, and staggered to the left, about to collapse. Teddy gasped, then ran to his left. A limp Hank collapsed in his arms.
Oh no. What have I done?
“Hank!” he screamed. The finish line was right there, just fifty yards ahead of them.
“Huh-huh-help!!” he screamed as some walkers passed then, intent on ending their suffering from the punishing course and climate or perhaps spurred on by a strong desire forbottled water and beer at the finish. The music drowned his cries for help. Nobody came.
Except one.
Hoodie.
The figure decked in black was striding toward them, purposefully. He slowed as he reached the two hapless runners.
Teddy had a choice. Run to safety, see his family, reach the medical staff who could treat his legs, now soaked in blood. Hank would surely be tended by someone on the course.
But he couldn’t run forever.
If I die, I want it to be helping my friend, he thought, even if it meant Hoodie getting him. He struggled to pull Hank to his feet, just as Hoodie reached for him.
No!
Hoodie was reaching for Hank!
“You won’t take him!” Teddy screamed, yanking Hank away from Hoodie, who cackled with laughter. Piedmont Park was too far away for him to carry his friend to safety.
But someone else heard his cries for help.
“Hey, you can’t run back on the course once you finish!” The official on the catwalk yelled.
In response, he could see Sherry giving the guy from the race the finger. She sprinted to Teddy and Hank, while G-Rod grabbed a hulking guy in an AFL-CIO t-shirt, then shouted. “Help us!”
Union guy got the message. The four of them picked up Hank and carried him toward the finish line.
Hoodie reached for Hank a second time, but this time the creature was blocked by a waveof walkers, now moving in to help. An angry hiss emerged from Hoodie. Yellow eyes flashed angrily as the figure was blocked by their bodies. As they crossed the finish line, Hank’s eyes briefly fluttered, then shut again for the last time as the clock showed 59 minutes and 55 seconds.
The red flag above him was replaced by a race official, who held out the black flag, ending the race. Liz and his family ran toward Teddy, calling out in shock as they saw the blood covering his legs. His vision went blurry, then all went black.
The last thing he heard as his eyes closed was a squeal from Hoodie.
He woke up in the hospital. His legs and hands were heavily bandaged. IVs were hooked up to his body, with instruments reading what only doctors and nurses could interpret. Liz, the kids, and the grandkids were thankfully there.
“I’m so sorry, Liz,” he cried out. “I’ll never run another road race again.”
“Stick with Pickleball for now, with the other old folks,” she declared.
Everyone joined in the laughter. But Teddy noticed that the other bed was empty. “Oh no,” he gasped.
“You okay?”
“We should have never done this one. But I just thought—you know, time being short and all.” Seeing the grandkids shocked at Teddy’s toughness crumbling, Liz ushered the rest of his family out of the room.
At that moment, Sherry and G-Rod came in. “How’s the big hero?” G-Rod began.
“Hero?”
“Yeah—you saved your buddy’s life. He’s down in ICU, but he’s going to make it,” Sherry beamed.
Tears flooded from Teddy’s face as the two women documented how they got Hank to the ambulance just in time. “And G-Rod beat her ex by five minutes!” Sherry announced. The two women held their hands together, friends for life.
Liz came back in, then saw the moisture on her husband’s face. “I know you feel bad, but it turns out that you helped save Hank’s life. When they got him to the hospital, they discovered a tumor that would have taken him out.”
“Wanna see your race photos?” Sherry offered. “They’re probably going in the AJC tomorrow.” She held up her cell phone. In picture after picture, he could see himself with Hank, and with the ladies and the union guy helping him carry Hank across the finish.
Hoodie was nowhere to be seen in any race picture.
He knew that Hoodie would be back, one day, not just for him, but for all of them, family and friends. It was inevitable. But while they were still alive, they would continue to live to the fullest, for each other.
You couldn’t outrun time.
But you could run the race set out before you. And it would be worth it in the end.
© John A.Tures
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| John A. Tures John A. Tures is a regular newspaper columnist and magazine writer for several news magazines and newspapers across the USA (https://muckrack.com/john- |
Great story, kept me hooked until the end!
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