Jack Beale 00 - Killer Run

began walking. He was wet only to just above his ankles, but that was enough for him to feel really cold. Other runners continued to finish their trek through the water, some stopping, some walking like he did, while others kept on running. As water squished out of his shoes he looked down the trail for Dave and Christos. They weren’t in sight, but she was.
    She had stopped and was adjusting one of her shoes. “Thanks,” he said as he walked to where she was retying her shoe.
    From the look on her face, he guessed that she hadn’t seen him approaching. With a last tug on her laces she stood up and faced him. “Oh, you’re welcome,” she said as recognition washed over her face.
    You want to run together for a bit?”
    “Sure. Let’s go. My feet are getting cold.”
    He couldn’t help but notice how blue her eyes were and how they lit up when she talked.
    “My name is Sylvie.”
    “Jack.”
    “Nice to meet you Jack. Have you run here before?”
    “Nope, first time.”
    “A virgin.” The way she said it was very matter-of-fact, and yet somehow it sounded just a little dirty.
    He smiled. “You?”
    “My third. I really love running in the woods. So much better than the roads.”
    Jack had to agree.
    Soon they turned off the road again and were back on single track. He was content to let her lead the way. After all, she had run here before. At least, that’s what he told himself.
    “Do you smell it?” she called back to him.
    “What?” he called back.
    “The bacon. Do you smell the bacon?”
    As she said this, his senses were assaulted by the most heavenly of smells. He smelled the bacon.
    They arrived less than five minutes later. An official checked them in by recording their bib numbers. Jack asked about Dave and Christos and was told they had checked in about five to ten minutes ago. He didn’t see them so he assumed they were back on the trail.
    Other officials directed them to drinks: water, Gatorade, adult beverages. Still others called out from behind the food table, “We have cookies, grilled cheese, bananas.” The only thing that needed no mention was the bacon and Jack couldn’t resist taking a slice. Sylvia was nibbling on a grilled cheese with tomato sandwich.
    “This is amazing,” said Jack.
    “I know. It’s so perfect, and on a morning like this, it just doesn’t get any better.” She finished her snack and gave Jack the ‘you ready’ look. He nodded and they were off. The next aid station was about four twisting, torturous miles away over alternating fire roads and single track trails. The treats were welcome, but they lacked the impact that that first station had.
    As the miles progressed, occasionally they overtook other runners, and at times they were passed. They alternated the lead and encouraged each other whenever the terrain became extreme. As they returned to the first section of fire road that they had last run in the dark, Jack was amazed to see just how rough it was and how much of an uphill climb it had been. Now, as they ran down, they had to pay close attention to where their feet landed. The surface was covered with loose rocks, many the size of softballs, in ruts where rain had washed out smaller, softer material.
    Jack was in the lead when he heard her cry out. He looked back and saw that she was down on the side of the road.
    Another runner was standing over her, and by the time Jack got back to her, several others had stopped as well.
    “Sylvie, what happened? You all right?” Since he used her name, those who had first stopped to help must have assumed that she was with Jack, because they began, one by one, to stand and resume their races.
    Pain and frustration was all over her face, but there were no tears. Her red gloves were covered with dirt, and a hole in her tights revealed a scraped and soon to be bloody right knee. “It’s my left ankle.”
    Jack helped her move into a more comfortable sitting position. “What about your knee?” he asked. She looked down at the reddening scrape and said, “Just a flesh wound. I didn’t twist it or anything, but I twisted my ankle good.”
    Gently he took her ankle in his hands. She grimaced and he could feel her pull back a bit. “Sorry. I don’t know if it’s broken or just sprained. How does it feel to you?”
    “It hurts.” She tried moving her foot, and he could tell from the expression on her face that she was fighting the pain.
    “Listen, don’t move. I’ll go get some help. You’re