by J C Williams
“Aww… that’s really sweet. They’re like an old married couple, those two!”
The arena was soon a hive of activity as the contestants began to arrive by the busload. The Olympics was due to commence at 10 a.m. with a parade for all the participants. The doors opened at 8:30 a.m., but people were queuing well before then. The atmosphere was uplifting with people milling around, full of nervous excitement. As Jack and Emma had thought, it was turning into a real family event. Children and grandchildren were arriving en masse to support elderly relatives and friends; it was endearing to watch the younger children looking at them with pride.
It was clear from watching the buses unload that there was a varied range of physical abilities. There were those who were sprightly for their age, and others who required a walking aid, mobility scooter, or even a wheelchair. This is what they had set out to achieve: an event that wasn’t selective or discriminative of those in their twilight years. This was something the participants were looking forward to, along with the opportunity to make new friendships or rekindle old ones. It rejuvenated some and for others gave them a reason to leave the house in the morning. There was an atmosphere of community and a sense that people were looking out for each other; it was exhilarating.
“There’s Grandad,” said Emma, waving furiously.
Jack scanned the amassing crowd. “Where?”
She pointed to the edge of the running track. “Over there, with Ray. He’s doing what looks like… lunges? Either that, or he’s trying to hump Ray’s leg.”
“I’d say either possibility is equally likely,” Jack offered. “Wait, what’s that he’s wearing?” asked Jack, straining his eyes. “For the love of God, have you seen what he’s got on??”
Grandad was performing a series of stretching exercises in a Lycra running suit that, sadly, left very little to the imagination.
Emma laughed. “Well he’s certainly going to be streamlined wearing that. Very aerodynamic, I’d say.”
Jack tried to motion him over. “That outfit looks like it’s been painted on! Ah, well, as long as he’s having fun, I suppose. I’ve got his new t-shirt ready for the grand unveiling.”
Grandad waved and jogged over, stopping intermittently to perform additional lunges which only emphasised how figure-hugging his outfit was.
“Looking good, Grandad!” said Jack. “I don’t suppose you’ve got any shorts to put over them… things, have you?”
Grandad was jogging on the spot, rotating the muscles in his neck. “Of course I have. I’d get arrested running around like this. Is that my t-shirt?” he asked. He scooped it up and carefully unwrapped it and admired the quality. “Looks pretty good, eh!” he said proudly.
It was a black polo shirt with the logo of the Silver Sprinters on the front and a giant lightning bolt.
“That’s pretty cool, Grandad!” said Jack, taking a picture on his phone.
Grandad turned his back. “Check this out, as well!”
“What’s that supposed to be?” asked Jack.
“It’s me catching the rest of the runners up, like I’m going to do today!”
Emma started to giggle as Jack moved in for a closer look. On the back of the black polo shirt were three white figures. One at the back — the largest and clearly intended to be Grandad, judging by the greying hair — and two smaller figures in front, which was designed to give the impression of two runners in the distance. Across the shoulders was the large white lettering: Geoffrey’s coming to get you!
“It’s good, isn’t it!” said Grandad with a smile on his face.
Jack looked at Emma in disbelief. “Good? Are you joking? Grandad, the large figure at the back looks like it’s chasing two children, and you’ve made a statement that Geoffrey’s coming to get you. You’ve got more chance of getting arrested for the shirt than you have for indecent exposure on them shorts.”
Grandad looked offended. “Don’t be bloody stupid, Jack. That’s just your juvenile mind! I need to get warmed up for this half marathon.” He took a momentary break from his pre-race ritual and, mercifully, placed a pair of baggy shorts over his well-defined gentleman parts, and then he was off.
Ray, who’d walked over with him, lingered.
“What’s with the sad face, Ray?” asked Emma. “Are you wishing you’d signed up to the race?”
Ray looked over his shoulder to make sure Grandad was out of earshot. He was clearly struggling to tell them something.
“Are you feeling alright?” asked Jack. “I can get some help if you’d like? I think we’ve got the majority of the Island’s ambulances here.”
“Has, em… that silly old bugger spoken to you?”
“About what?”
Ray took an audible intake of breath, then let it all out. “About the doctors.”
Jack’s face immediately strained. “No. What about the doctors?”
Ray bowed his head. “He’s going to kill me for telling you this.”
“I’ll kill you if you don’t. What’s wrong?”
“I heard him on the phone to the doctors and I listened in when I shouldn’t be listening in. Long story short, he’s been told that this half marathon is really, truly not a good idea.”
“What! So, what’s he doing here looking like Linford Christie? Is it his heart?”
“I’m sorry, son. I don’t know all the details. He didn’t want to tell me anything. I think he knew I’d tell you and then you’d stop him.”
“Bloody right I’ll stop him. Eighty-three and running a half marathon!”
Jack went to move away but Emma took him by the arm. “You need to be careful what you say. Don’t be angry with him.”
“Emma, I’m not angry, I’m just worried. We set up the Silver Sprinters to help the elderly get fit. I don’t want to end up killing any of them off… especially Grandad.”
Emma still held him in check.
“Don’t worry,” Jack said. “I’m not going to shout at him.”
Emma released her grip but was nevertheless still worried.
Jack calmed his expression and walked to where Grandad was now doing star jumps.
“Oi, Usain Bolt, can I have a word?”
“What’s up now, are my trainers not to your liking?”
That made Jack think for a moment. Every time Grandad had done something, Jack always had an opinion. To be fair, his intervention was sometimes the only thing keeping Grandad out of jail, but he could on occasion be overly critical.
“Look, you’re right. I’m sorry, I think I treat you like a child at times, and I shouldn’t.”
“I know, you shouldn’t!”
Jack moved closer. “You know I do it because I care. Grandad, I probably don’t tell you this as often as I should, but I’m proud of you… very proud. You’re not like other old people, you’re fun, you get involved, and you try different things. Since Dad died, you’ve been like a father to me and I just worry about you. There’s no easy way to ask this, but what’s this about the doctors?”
“Bloody Ray, I knew he’d tell you.”
“He told me because he cares about you. Did the doctor tell you not to enter this race?”
“Oh, what do they bloody know? They told me to stop drinking because it was bad for me, and that was thirty years ago and look at me now — fit as a flugelhorn.”
“You mean fiddle?”
“Flugelhorn! And the doctor who told me to give up the drink died ten years ago, and he was younger than me.”
“But, Grandad, do you not think you should listen to the advice?”
“No, I bloody don’t. Look, Jack, I feel fitter than I have in years. Because of your club, I’ve got new friends and a reason to walk out the front door. After your gran died, I was in a bad place. I didn’t leave the house, I had no friends. I was scared of living and I hated that. I’m eighty-three and I’m about to run a half marathon. Sure and I could take no risk and sit in my armchair till the day I die. But then where’s the fun in that, Jack? Where
?”
Jack smiled as his eyes welled up. “I just want you to be around to see my child grow up. I don’t want you to just be a photograph for the baby. I want it to get to know you.”
“I’m not going anywhere. I’ll be there to tell the baby what a soft-arse its father is! I know you mean well, son, but the grim reaper will be here for me one day and I’d rather go out with a smile on my face than sat in a rubber seat covered in my own piss. Now, help me stretch my calf muscles out.”
Jack knew it was useless and deep down he knew Grandad was right and, if anything, he was even more proud of him.
Along with the Lord Mayor of Douglas, Jack had the honour of lighting the official flame. He didn’t usually get nervous, but as he walked up the small flight of stairs next to the stadium, his legs started to wobble. There were over three thousand people stood around the stadium and running track, and in excess of two hundred and forty competitors. The local press was in attendance and the BBC had sent their regional news crew to cover the event.
He shared the torch with the Mayor and between them they gingerly pushed it into the large cast-iron tub that was shaped like a wheelchair. For a moment, nothing happened. But then it erupted into light and, as it did so, the brass band in attendance burst into a fanfare as thousands of people celebrated the inaugural ‘Wrinkly Olympics.’
The enthusiasm wasn’t dampened for a moment as the parade began at 10 a.m. Every participant received a rapturous response as they passed the stadium; even those with limited mobility appeared to quicken their step with their heads held high and proud. Jack stood with Ray and Emma as Grandad and the ‘Silver Sprinters’ approached. It was one of Jack’s proudest moments to see his grandad together with the members of the club both he and Emma helped create.
Ray patted them both on the shoulder. “You know, these people would probably be sat at home, on their own, without you two. Look at them, look at this. You should both be very pleased with yourselves.”
It was all too much for Emma, who burst into tears.
“What’s up with you?” asked Jack.
“Nothing… I’m fine. It’s just this. The whole lot. It’s wonderful. The world record was amazing and I never thought I’d get that feeling again, but this is… this is even better than that.”
Grandad gave them a warm smile as he walked by and blew a kiss in Emma’s direction. There were a few murmurings from the crowd when he moved by and they saw the logo on the rear of his shirt.
The opening ceremony was akin to a military parade. The foot soldiers, which comprised those participants who were fully mobile, were first out. Keeping up, just, were those who walked with the help of a stick or frame. And trundling behind them was the start of the heavy artillery; those who were confined to a wheelchair. The majority of the occupiers had taken to decorating their ‘chariot’ — which added to the colour of the affair. Two of them had small children sat on their knee to really share the occasion with loved ones. And, lastly, bringing up the rear, were the mobility scooters. They almost had a rebellious streak, like a biker gang, and cruised by the stadium with a self-possessed nonchalance. A number of their ‘rides’ had clearly been modified and, in anticipation for their races, their drivers scrutinised their competition like strutting women at a beauty pageant.
A giant horn announced the end of the parade and beginning of the competitions. The staff on hand were the consummate professionals. They’d been in attendance since daybreak, but bounded around with inexhaustible enthusiasm. For a while it looked like they were trying to herd cats as the competitors wandered in all directions — the majority were hard of hearing, while some had visual impairments — but the staff either took them by the hand or were quick to improvise their sign-language skills. They were patient and good-natured and a good number of them had relatives in attendance.
“You must be Jack?” said a cheery voice. “I’m David, from the Manchester branch — it’s great to finally meet you.”
“David!” replied Jack enthusiastically. “It’s really great to see you in person. I feel like I know you, the amount of times we’ve spoken. How was the journey over?”
“Great, we’ve brought twenty-two people over with us. It would have been more but we couldn’t get them on the bus. Honestly, this has been the talk of Manchester. Your tourist board must be happy with you — nearly everyone in our club has had their families fly over for a holiday. At a guess, I’d say about one hundred in total.”
David was the first person with the foresight to open a Lonely Heart Attack Club outside of the Isle of Man. Like Jack’s, his shop was also struggling, unable to keep pace with the major coffee chains. He saw the coverage of the record attempt on the news and got in touch with Jack. For a small franchise fee — which went into the fundraising — David was given permission to use the name and things quickly improved for his business.
His coffee shop went from being a sterile shop and into a community. Like the Isle of Man, they had countless numbers of vulnerable people falling victim to scams or sat at home in isolation. Before long they were oversubscribed, so he opened another shop and another. From being nearly bankrupt, he now owned four shops across the city and had hundreds of members, and David paid more into the fund than he was required to do. He knew that without Jack, Emma, and the club, he’d have nothing.
It was this success story that prompted Jack to try and spread the net even further. If it worked in Manchester then there was no reason it wouldn’t work elsewhere across the country.
“We had a bit of sad news recently,” said David. “One of our original members passed away.”
Jack nodded his head. “We had something similar not so long ago, and you have my sympathies.”
“His wife has come over, which is good. She’s the small lady over there waiting for her turn on the archery. Anyway, there is a reason I wanted to tell you about her, Jack. They’d just celebrated their sixtieth wedding anniversary last year, Sally and Bert — they were inseparable. They got involved with the club, pretty much from day one, because they knew how we were trying to help educate the elderly and vulnerable with things like common scams and that sort of thing.”
“Were they victims?” asked Jack.
“Sadly, although not when they joined. They were the lifeblood of the club, always first to arrive and last to leave. The sort who turn up early to make the sandwiches and put the chairs away when everyone has gone. They were a friend to everyone and part of the reason the club took off.
“Anyway, so some chancer turned up at their door one day and offered to do some gardening and general maintenance, that sort of thing. One job turned into another and soon their driveway had been resurfaced, nearly the entire roof replaced, and half an extension built. Bert had always been in charge of the money, so Sally never really questioned it.
“Sadly, Bert was in early stages of dementia. Luckily, they said something in the club which one of the helpers picked up on and we got to the extent of the problem. The thieving bastard had taken them for nearly a hundred thousand pounds, and left them with a shell of an extension that needed pulled down. Fortunately, we were able to get the police involved, but they’d lost most of their money.
“They shared their story with the other members and our other clubs, so I suppose at least they may have saved someone else becoming a victim. Bert never really recovered from it and went downhill afterwards.
“Sorry to go on, Jack.”
“Don’t be daft, what you’re describing is what we hear all the time, and why what we’re doing it so important.”
David nodded. “I know, the good thing is that I had the chance to have a ‘little word’ with the builder before the police caught up with him.
“I went to see Bert on the day he died. Sadly, I didn’t get much sense from him until Sally left the room for a moment. He took me by the hand and looked me firmly in the face and said: ‘David, I didn’t want to go because I didn’t want to leave Sally on her own. Now that we’ve f
ound all of you, I’m happy and ready to go. Look after her.’
“Bert died about twenty minutes later and we did. Look after her, that is. I just wanted to let you know how important the club is and how we’re making a difference in people’s lives. Look at the smile on her face now.”
“That’s a wonderful story, David. I think we need to set up a newsletter for all of the members, you know, so we can share stories like this. The more scams we can advise our members about the better. And thank you for bringing all these people over, by the way. It’s a brilliant turnout.”
“Jack, sorry to interrupt you, but I’m with the BBC,” a fellow from the BBC interrupted. “Would there be any possibility of getting an interview with you in about five minutes?”
As far as interruptions went, this was the sort that was not at all unwelcome.
“Of course, my pleasure,” Jack said, puffing out his chest proudly like a… well, like a proud puffing thing. “As a matter of fact, my grandad is just about to start his race, so perhaps we can get the half marathon going and get some footage from that?”
The half marathon was the ‘blue riband’ event and had attracted over seventy entrants. Whilst it was ultimately a fun day out, there were those that clearly took it very seriously, and in spite of their advanced ages there were some seriously fit athletes that had been competitive during their youth, from the looks of it. To balance it, there were those that just wanted to take part, with people who turned up in fancy dress; Laurel and Hardy were particularly impressive.
The race was being run on the cycling track and, as it was taking place at the same time as the field events, there was plenty to keep the energetic crowd occupied.
Jack walked over and placed his hands around Grandad’s shoulder. “Good luck, you crazy old bugger,” he said. “We’re all very proud of you!”
Spectators were ordered to clear the track and the runners were under starter’s orders. The crack of the starting pistol saw them burst into action and Grandad waved as he moved away.
