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So do I deserve answers? No, I don’t think so. But I’ve been offered them. And I’m going to take advantage, give it my all. Finishing is far from a given. I could have come all this way for nothing.
‘By the way, I’m Matt,’ he says. He sounds more breathless now, his pattern thrown out of whack, and his footsteps are dragging.
Meanwhile, I feel like I could go on forever. By my judgement we’re less than a mile to the bivouac, so I can finally engage that extra gear. Sure enough, as I push that tiny bit harder, he begins to fall behind. Before he gets too far, I look back over my shoulder one more time. ‘Good luck with the rest of your race, Matt,’ I say, before taking off.
27
Adrienne
Matt gives it his best shot, launching himself forward to keep up with me, but he is spent. He’s used up so much of his energy catching up with me and the other elites and not left enough in the tank for the final mile. I don’t feel bad about leaving him behind. There’s no way he will get lost – not with the flags so prominent and visible on the horizon.
I cross the finishing line of the stage, but don’t linger in the end zone. Instead, I head to the tent. Mariam is already there, fast asleep and curled up in the far corner. Keeping the focus on my own feet, I try to run through all my post-race rituals: drink my recovery shake, do my stretches, tend to my blisters and sore spots, look over the course for tomorrow. I want to rest, but I also feel wired.
My muscles are beginning to stiffen so I make the decision to walk the bivouac.
All the elites are in now. There are so few of us left, the field having been depleted by the events of the last forty-eight hours.
Outside tent number one, Rupert is being interviewed again by the documentary crew. My instinct is to give him a wide berth. But something about running the second stage – taking on that jebel and feeling strong – has empowered me. I forgot how running can do that.
‘The ultra community is small, and we’re all friends here,’ Rupert says to the woman with the microphone.
‘All of you?’ she asks.
‘The ones who matter,’ he replies. Do his eyes flick to me in that moment?
I’ve had enough. I wait for them to finish and until Rupert is alone.
I might be outrun. I might be threatened. But there’s no way I’m going to be intimidated off the race.
I stride towards him. ‘Rupert? I was hoping we could talk,’ I say, ducking inside his tent. He scowls in response, but doesn’t ask me to leave. I take that as an opening. ‘What did you mean yesterday: “It should have been you”?’
At least he has the grace to look awkward about it, rubbing his hand against the back of his neck. ‘Nabil was the best of us. If anyone deserved this win, it’s him. But you – you ruined a good man’s life. Glenn was a brilliant coach. One of the best. Why did you do it? Because he dropped you from his roster?’
‘How do you know that?’ I say, unable to hide my shock.
‘Keri, my girlfriend, she was at your little camp. She told me Glenn fired you for refusing to race in an Ampersand. So why the fuck are you here now?’
‘Same reason as you, Rupert.’
‘I highly doubt that,’ he mutters, darkly. ‘I didn’t want to be here.’
I frown. ‘Then why are you?’
He shakes his head. ‘Look, just stay out of my way.’
‘Why, are you threatened? Is it because last time we raced against each other, I won?’
He stares at me dead in the eyes. ‘It’s not you I’m worried about. Now leave me alone.’
I swallow hard, backing out of his tent. My hands are shaking, and I clench them to stop. I didn’t think many people knew about Glenn dropping me. Rupert’s animosity makes more sense now. He thinks I made up the lie to get back at Glenn. The urge to scream the truth is so strong.
But it would be my word against that of a dead legend. Without proof I’ve already lost.
I’m distracted by a loud cheer rising from near the finishing line. Fun runners are crossing over, and they’ll keep coming in over the next few hours. My heart lifts to see the camaraderie and the support offered by the other runners. This is part of what I always loved about race days. Even though running is such an individual event, the way runners come together to support each other makes it feel more like a team sport. It’s inspiring.
It’s also testament to the hard work each person is putting in each day. As I approach the medical tent, I can see another – a line of almost fifty runners is waiting to be seen by a doctor. Foot issues are the most common problem. The tent will be packed with people piercing blisters, slathering them in iodine, wrapping them in tape. I’ve learned to take care of all that myself, even if the offer of professional help is there. During races I like to be self-sufficient. In control.
I wander out of the circle of tents, past where the toilets are set up. I wish I had a camera with me, to take a photo for Ethan. He would love these mundane details, the everyday facts like how do you even go to the loo inthe desert. I hope one day I can be in a position to bring him to Morocco and the Sahara Desert – to sleep under the immense canopy of stars and see the magnificent dunes for himself.