Transition

by Henry Charles Mishkoff

  Olga speaks with disconcerting matter-of-factness. Jillian’s first reaction is surprise that Olga would admit defeat so easily. And then it hits her: sixteen hundred and fifty meters! Not fifteen hundred, not even sixteen hundred, but sixteen hundred and fifty! How incredibly precise! Someone must be passing signals to them, Jillian realizes, with grudging admiration for the organization that this implies.

  Let’s see, she thinks, sixteen hundred and fifty meters is… is what? About a mile? A little more? And there’s, what, seven miles to go? Jesus, this is probably the fastest triathlon I’ve ever done, and Sunshine’s still a mile ahead of me this late in the race. How can that be?

  Don’t panic, she tells herself. There’s still time. Let’s see, I have to make up one mile in the next seven… if she’s doing, say, six-and-a-half minute miles and I do five-and-a-half, I’ll make up a minute each mile, and I’ll catch her with a mile or two to go… is that right? But what if she’s doing better than six-and-a-half minute miles? I’d better pick up the pace a little just to be sure. No reason to hold anything back now.

  But how can Sunshine still be running so fast? She must be getting tired by now. She must be.

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  “Sunshine is definitely getting tired, Dave. See how much she’s leaning forward? That’s one of the first signs. When you start to get tired, it gets harder and harder to stand up straight. And she’s not lifting her feet high enough. It’s not like she’s shuffling her feet, but she’s definitely heading in that direction.”

  “Well, Cindi, I guess the question is: With less than five miles left to go, can she hold on long enough to win the race? Your projection showed that it could be close between Sunshine and Jill Kendal. But if Sunshine slows down, Jill could close the gap pretty quickly. And Jill certainly doesn’t show any signs of slowing down. In fact, since she caught up to Konuszenka and Patrushkin, she’s been speeding up, if anything. And the two Russian women have been hanging right in there with her.

  “Which brings up another point, Cindi: If Konuszenka and Patrushkin can maintain the pace they’ve been running at for the last mile or so, they may pass Sunshine, too. Which means that after this incredible effort, after leading literally all the way from the starting gun, not only might Sunshine O’Malley not win the gold medal, she might not win any medal at all. And I would think that would have to be a bitter disappointment, after all she’s been through.”

  “I don’t know that I’d count Sunshine out just yet, Dave. In spite of the fact that she’s obviously tiring, Larry Eubanks tells me that she ran the last mile in five-fifty-five, which makes it her fastest mile in the run leg so far. That’s amazing. Because she was slowing down a couple of miles ago.”

  “How can that be? Do you think that she’s just not as tired as she appears to be?”

  “Oh, I’m sure she’s real tired, Dave. I think she realized that she was slowing down, and she just doesn’t want to lose, so she forced herself to go faster. That’s the sign of a true champion: being able to coax just a little bit more out of your body even when you feel like you’re completely drained. It’s like she’s calling on some kind of reserve, you know? Like she’s switching to an auxiliary tank.”

  “Can she keep it up for the next five miles?”

  “That really is the question, isn’t it? You know, in an Ironman-distance race, what you’re really trying to do is to be completely fatigued at the exact time that you cross the finish line. If you still have anything left when you finish, then you know you just didn’t work hard enough. But… If you go out too hard, instead of running out of steam just after you finish, you may lose it a mile or two before you finish, and then you might not be able to finish at all. I just hope that Sunshine’s not pushing it too hard. Those last five miles can be awfully tough. Take it from me, I’ve been there.”

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  And where is Sunshine?

  Sunshine is not exactly sure.

  She knows that she’s in a race. She knows that she’s determined to win. She knows that she has to run faster, ever faster, so that no one – not even the Golden Girl herself – will be able to catch her.

  But beyond that, things are getting muddled. Like: Exactly where is she? And: Why is it so important? These and other annoying questions float through her mind. With grim determination, she pushes them aside. She’ll think about them later.

  Her attention has started to drift. She blinks and realizes that she has no idea of what’s been happening for the past few minutes. It’s as if she spent a few minutes running on autopilot. Which is okay, Sunshine thinks. But what if I was slowing down without even being aware of it? I better go faster, just in case.

  It’s only a few miles.

  I can make it.

  But I need to go just a little bit faster. Just a little bit faster.

  6.1.17: Tanami

  Jillian has come to realize that she’s in the middle of a race for second place.

  As far as she’s concerned, she’s still going for the gold. Sunshine might be ahead, but she must be tiring. And she is, after all, a quitter. She is eminently catchable. But Olga and Marta have already conceded first place to Sunshine, and they’re determined to take the silver and bronze medals home with them. And if they let Jillian finish ahead of them, one of them will have to go home without a medal.

  When Jillian makes her move, Olga and Marta match her pace, stride for stride. So Jillian kicks the pace up another notch. But Olga and Marta stay right with her.

  At first, Jillian is surprised at how effortlessly Olga and Marta are able to keep up with her. And she wonders: If they’re so fresh, why aren’t they trying to pull away?

  And then she knows. They figure that they have more left than I do, Jillian thinks, with a start. They think that all they have to do is stay even with me. Then, when they make a move in the last mile, they figure that they’ll leave me in the dust.

  And if I let them stay with me that long, they may be right.

  I’m going to have to shake them.

  They form a single file to run through the aid station at the twenty-mile mark. Jillian, not ready to challenge them just yet, brings up the rear. Olga and Marta don’t take advantage of the aid station to make a move, and soon they’re back to running three-abreast again.

  Marta says a few words to Olga, who nods and relays the message to Jillian. “Marta says, why not we race to next aid station? Make race more… what is word… interesting?”

  Jillian is stunned. They’re trying to put me away, she realizes. It’s the same goddamn trick I used on Sunshine up in Boston. They have so much confidence, they think that they have so much more left than I do. They know how far behind I was, and how hard I had to work to catch up with them. They think they’ve got me on the ropes, and now they think they’re going to finish me off.

  She looks at Olga. Olga is looking back at her, appraisingly. She knows, Jillian thinks. She knows that I know exactly what she’s doing. And she doesn’t care that I know. She’s just waiting to see how I’m going to respond.

  Suddenly, she’s angry. I’m the best long-distance runner in the entire fucking world, she thinks. Who are these girls to think they can take me so lightly? How many races have they won? How many medals do they have? They probably drafted all the way through the bike leg, and they probably have spotters all over the course, and they’re so goddamn sure of themselves…

  “Go for it,” Jillian says. As soon as she says it, it sounds funny, like it’s a line from a movie. She laughs, and she says it again: “Go for it.”

  Olga and Marta glance at each other, Jillian can see that they don’t know what to make of her laughter. Taking advantage of their momentary confusion, she shifts into a sprint and shoots past them.

  Her advantage doesn’t last long. Within a hundred yards, Olga and Marta have moved up next to her, matching her stride. Damn, Jillian thinks, they’re better than I thought. But I started this, and I’m going to hav
e to finish it. If I let them pull away from me now, it’s all over.

  For a couple of minutes, it is hard to tell who is pushing whom. The three women maintain an incredible speed, sprinting wildly down the center lane of the wide road, Jillian directly in the middle of the road framed by one of the Russian women on either side. None of them is willing to give an inch.

  How long can we keep this up? Jillian wonders. Can I keep it up as long as they can? And even if I do, will I have worn myself out so much that I won’t be able to finish the race? Am I playing right into their hands?

  While she’s worrying, her concentration falters, and Olga and Marta begin to pull away. By the time she banishes her anxieties, the Russian women are perhaps ten feet ahead of her.

  My God, they’re good, Jillian thinks. Look at their form! Especially Marta – those long legs, eating up the ground. They’re so graceful, both of them. So natural.

  Are they better than I am?

  The possibility terrifies her, sending a jolt of energy through her system. I can’t let this happen. I won’t let this happen. No one can beat me. No one can beat me. NO ONE.

  “NO!” she howls, in a sudden rage. And suddenly, she’s supercharged. She’s actually gaining ground, catching up, getting closer and closer. And then she pulls up between them again, and they’re all straining terribly, the three of them, the monumental exertion etched into their faces, muscles taut, sinews bulging. And then she’s edging past them, and she’s still accelerating, somehow, she’s running as fast as she possibly can and then she’s running just a little faster, and then faster still…

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  It is Marta who throws in the towel. Long before they reach the aid station, she shakes her head, motions to Olga, who grimaces but slowly decelerates. Marta is right, Olga knows. They cannot punish themselves like this any longer and still expect to finish the race. They will just have to hope that Jillian has worn herself out. Perhaps she will be forced to slow down so much that they may still pass her. Perhaps she will even be forced to drop out of the race entirely. Perhaps. Otherwise, Olga and Marta will be reduced to fighting it out for the bronze medal – not a pleasant thought for either of them. Neither likes to lose, but neither wants the other to lose, either.

  As they slow to a more reasonable pace, Olga, though gasping for breath, cups her hands over her mouth and shouts her newly learned phrase at Jillian’s rapidly retreating back: “Go for it, Jill! Go for it!”

  6.1.18: Tanami

  “That was one of the most awesome things I’ve ever seen in a triathlon, Dave. Look at me, I’m drenched with sweat from just watching them! Wow.”

  “I have to agree with you, Cindi. For a couple of minutes there, it looked like we were watching a hundred-meter dash instead of the run leg of a long-distance triathlon. What was that all about? I’ve heard of jockeying for position, but…”

  “That was more than just establishing position, Dave. That was a statement from Jill Kendal. That was her way of showing Konuszenka and Patrushkin that she, Jill Kendal, is the champion. She really put them in their place. Wow.”

  “But isn’t there a danger that the sprint took too much out of her? That must have taken a lot of energy.”

  “But Jill Kendal’s in extraordinary shape, Dave, don’t forget that. And she’s the best in the world at what she does. And look, she’s pretty much slowed down to her normal pace, and she doesn’t look any worse for wear, does she? She’s still breathing pretty hard, but she’ll get her breath back in a couple of minutes. Other than that, her form is good. She’s relaxed, and she looks incredibly strong to me. Wow. I’m impressed.”

  “Does she have any chance at all of catching up with Sunshine O’Malley?”

  “Gee, I don’t know, Dave. Sunshine’s less than three miles from the finish line now, and she’s still over half a mile ahead of Jill, but she’s really starting to slow down. She put in a couple of sub-six-minute miles a little while ago, but I think that may have been her last gasp. I think she wore herself out. She doesn’t have to go real fast the rest of the way to win. But I don’t know, Dave, she doesn’t look so good to me.”

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  And Sunshine doesn’t exactly feel so good, either. She hurts. She hurts so universally that it’s impossible to say exactly what hurts anymore. With each step, pain shoots through her legs, stabs her in the back, radiates through her chest and head, filters down to her fingertips. Every time either of her feet hits the ground she feels as though someone is striking her squarely in the top of the head with a sledgehammer, pounding her down, compressing her already compact body into a tight wad.

  And yet she runs on. The pain is there, she notices it, she knows that it’s bad, but it might not be entirely accurate to say that she actually feels it. She has somehow managed to disassociate herself from it. It’s more as though she’s witnessing someone else’s pain than experiencing her own.

  And she’s drifting. Her mind is meandering hither and yon, like a butterfly flitting through a field of sweet-smelling flowers. It’s as if her brain is slowly disengaging, leaving her body to fend for itself.

  And her body, left to its own devices, is slowing down. She’s still running, her legs are still churning, she’s still propelling herself forward at a respectable speed. But with each painful step she’s moving just a little bit slower, and slower, and slower still…

  Transition

  Book 6: Transformation

  Part 2:

  The Finish

  6.2.1: Tanami

  Not one of the 80,367 seats in Tanami Stadium is empty.

  As recently as a few days ago, meager attendance had been predicted for the event. But that was before two of the participants were kidnapped. And then rescued. And then decided to compete in the race.

  In the last few hours, stadium seating for the first-ever Olympic women’s long-distance triathlon has become the hottest ticket in town. Good tickets are being scalped on the street for the equivalent of thousands of U.S. dollars. It seems that everybody in Qen Phon wants to see the two brave women who have suffered so terribly. And if one of them happens to win the race, everybody wants to be able to tell their grandchildren that they were there when it happened.

  Sunshine’s parents are there. Roger and Corinne O’Malley are, in fact, seated in the very front row, with only a two-foot-high railing separating them from the track that encircles the field. This is not simply a serendipitous coincidence: The original owners of these tickets, the parents of a triathlete from Senegal who has only the slightest chance of even finishing the race much less of winning it, graciously traded their tickets for the O’Malley’s, whose original seats were located in the eleventh row.

  Jillian’s parents are there too. Both of them. Barbara Anne Kendal, furious at her daughter’s decision to participate in the race – and at the crucial logistical support that G.W. provided for her – had threatened not to attend, but in the end she gave in to her husband’s logic. This is a big day in Jillian’s life, G.W. had said. Maybe the biggest. I know that things haven’t been so great between you two. But if you let your goddamn pride keep you away from that stadium today, I don’t know that Jill will ever forgive you. And I can’t say that I’d blame her. You’re her mother, goddamn it. She needs you.

  And although Barbara Anne recognized emotional blackmail when she saw it, even in her anger she had to admit that there was some truth in G.W.’s words. She and Jillian were becoming estranged. If she were not there to share the moment with her daughter, whatever that moment might be, whether a rousing victory or a stunning defeat – if she boycotted the event this afternoon, she could drive a wedge between them that might be too big to ever be removed. If, on the other hand, she did go to the stadium – well, it might not solve anything. But it would, at least, be a signal that the lines of communication were still open.

  From her end, at least.

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  Knowing th
at the race is finally drawing to a conclusion, the crowd in the stadium is growing restless. The announcement that Sunshine O’Malley is now only half a mile from the entrance to the stadium electrifies the crowd. An enormous roar erupts from the expensive seats and the cheap seats alike.

  It’s the storybook ending they’ve all been hoping for. One of the kidnap victims is about to win the race.

  And as those with phones and tablets are aware, the other kidnappee is in hot pursuit.

  6.2.2: Tanami

  It’s a clear afternoon, but Sunshine is in a fog.

  The course finally veers off the General Tanami SuperHighway at the exit to Olympic Boulevard, the tree-lined thoroughfare that was built to provide access to the Olympic Village. But Sunshine doesn’t want to run down the exit ramp. Why can’t I stay on this road? she wonders. It’s nice and wide. And best of all, it doesn’t have any hills. Who knows what’s down there at the bottom of the ramp. I think I’ll stay on the highway.

  But the officials who line the road have other ideas. “That way,” they keep saying. “That way.” They seem to think that they’re being helpful, but to Sunshine they’re nothing more than frustrating impediments, obstacles standing between her and the way she desperately wants to go.

  Don’t they know how tired I am? she wonders. If they cared about me at all they wouldn’t make me run down some stupid ramp that leads to some stupid streets in some stupid neighborhood that I don’t know anything about. But they don’t care about me. Nobody cares about me. Jill sure doesn’t care about me. Even Nathan doesn’t love me anymore. I’m on my own. And now, these stupid people in those stupid uniforms are harassing me.

  But following their insistent directions is easier than arguing with them. And so, with more than a little apprehension, she runs down the ramp that leads to the maze of vaguely threatening streets that will lead her to her destiny.