Ultra

by Carroll David

I said nothing. I hate it when people tell me I’m too young. Wayne Gretzky scored 300 goals when he was eleven. Annaleise Carr swam across Lake Ontario when she was fourteen. No one told them they were too young.

  “Take it easy, Ted,” said Bruce. “This young boy is Tom Scheurmann’s son. He knows a thing or two about running.”

  Dirt Eater grumbled and turned back to the lake.

  Bruce leaned over to me. “Don’t worry about him,” he whispered. “He’s just going through a bad spell. Hallucinations.”

  The trail demons, I thought. Dad told me they always turned up after 35 miles. We’d only run 22 so far. I guess Mr. Dirt Eater was in for a long day.

  Just then, a silver hatchback pulled into the parking lot. The doors popped open and Mom and Ollie sprang out.

  Mom was wearing a yellow sundress tied with a green cord. Ollie was holding a cardboard box. “It’s Speedy Quinnzales!” he shouted.

  Mom walked over and gave me a hug. “How are you feeling?” she asked.

  “Pretty good,” I said.

  “You’ve got colour in your cheeks,” she said. “Are you wearing sunscreen?”

  “SPF 70,” I said.

  “Good.” She turned to Bruce. “Has he been eating?”

  Bruce shrugged. “I weighed him and he looks okay.”

  Mom lifted the lid of the cardboard box. A dozen Nanaimo bars glistened in the sunshine. “What do you say to these?” she asked.

  Nanaimo bars are usually my favourite. But not today. My stomach lurched.

  “I’m not really hungry,” I said.

  This threw Mom into high alert. She pressed her palm to my forehead. “What day is your birthday?” she asked.

  “Mom,” I said, “I’m fine. Really.”

  She wasn’t buying it. She was twirling her magic lasso of truth. “What day is your birthday?” she repeated.

  “August third,” I sighed.

  “And where do you live?”

  “135 Champlain Drive.”

  Ollie grabbed a Nanaimo bar and folded it into his mouth. Mom was too busy asking me skill-testing questions to notice. What was the name of my first-grade teacher? My favourite colour? My Pinterest login?

  Ollie gulped down the Nanaimo bar and interrupted. “You’ve got a suntan on your legs,” he said.

  I looked down. “That’s not a tan, that’s dirt,” I said. I tried to scrape off the layer of crud but it stuck to me like sap.

  “Did you visit the Shrine yet?” Ollie asked.

  “Not yet,” I said. “It’s still seventy-five miles away.”

  “Oh.”

  He reached for another Nanaimo bar, but Mom zapped him with her laser-beam eyes. Reluctantly, he withdrew his hand.

  “It’s only ten-thirty,” Mom said, turning back to me. “You got here too quickly. You promised you’d take it easy, remember?”

  “I am taking it easy,” I said.

  “Not easy enough. You know what your father would say. Take it slow. Enjoy the scenery. Smell the flowers.”

  I seriously doubted that my father would tell me to smell the flowers. More likely he’d just say, “Be the tortoise, not the hare.”

  Bruce topped up my water bottle one last time and handed me a plastic bag full of salted yams. “Eat as many of these as you can,” he told me. He looked me in the eye and spoke real quietly. “Seriously,” he said, “eat as many as you can.”

  “What are they?” Ollie asked, squinching up his face.

  “Sweet potatoes,” I said.

  “Rocket fuel,” Bruce corrected.

  I squeezed the bag into my fanny pack. “Time for me to get going,” I said.

  Mom’s smile sagged. It looked like a laundry line in December. “But we only just got here,” she said.

  “Now now,” said Bruce. “This isn’t a social visit. The kid’s running a race. And he’s right, he’s got to go.”

  Mom knelt down to double-knot my shoelaces. “Are you sure you’ve had enough to eat?” she asked.

  “Yes,” I sighed.

  “He shouldn’t even be running,” the Dirt Eater growled. “He’s way too young to be running this kind of distance.”

  “That’s enough, Ted,” Bruce said.

  Mom glanced over at the Dirt Eater.

  “See you later!” I shouted.

  “Wait!” said Ollie. “Don’t you want a joke?”

  I smiled at my brother. “Definitely,” I said.

  Ollie grinned. “Knock knock,” he said.

  “Who’s there?” I said.

  “Lettuce.”

  “Lettuce who?”

  “Lettuce in, it’s freezing cold out here!”

  The adults all laughed, except for the Dirt Eater. He was still preoccupied with his imaginary school bus on the lake.

  Mom gave me a hug. “Make lots of noise out there,” she said. “Let those bears know you’re coming.”

  “Sure thing,” I said.

  “Promise me you’ll sing,” she said. “You used to sing all the time. Why don’t you sing anymore?”

  I tried to swallow, but my spit had dried up. “Probably something to do with puberty,” I said.

  CHIMNEY TOP

  Mile 23

  I was happy to get going. The longer I hung around, smelling those burgers, the more I wanted to lie down and take a nap. Those camp chairs looked comfy! And my legs were already starting to ache.

  In case you’re wondering, I had 78 miles to go. Which is roughly the distance between your house and, oh, I don’t know, the moon.

  That’s how far I still needed to run before dawn. And I only had 19 hours and 12 minutes left to do it.

  Just as I started jogging down the trail, Kneecap came running up behind me. “Wait up, Q-Tip!” she shouted.

  She sprinted over. She’d changed out of her flip-flops and was wearing proper trail shoes.

  “What’s up?” I said.

  “Peace offering,” she said. She held out her hand. A small plastic chip sat in her palm.

  “What’s that?” I asked.

  “Extra battery,” she said. “For the phone. You’ll need it — that thing is an energy hog.”

  I took the battery and slipped it into my fanny pack. “Thanks,” I said.

  “Don’t make too many calls,” she said. “The roaming charges are brutal. But you can text for free.”

  I tugged the zipper shut and snapped the belt tight around my waist. “Thanks,” I said.

  Kneecap grinned. “I have another surprise.”

  “What?” I said.

  “I’m running with you.”

  SYDNEY WATSON WALTERS: Seriously? Is Kneecap an athlete?

  QUINN: She’s super skinny, but she’s about as athletic as a doorstop. The only exercise she likes is running off her mouth.

  (Audience laughs)

  SYDNEY WATSON WALTERS: Are friends allowed to run on the racecourse?

  QUINN: It’s a very casual race, so people can do what they want. It’s not like it’s the Boston Marathon or anything. Still, I wasn’t too thrilled about having her along.

  “You know I’m going up that mountain, right?” I said. I pointed up at Chimney Top.

  “That little thing?” Kneecap said. She shrugged her shoulders.

  I shook my head. The truth was, I didn’t want her to slow me down. But I couldn’t tell her that, not after she’d given me the battery.

  “Don’t look so worried,” Kneecap said. “I’ll only come a few miles.”

  Her shoes were brand new. It suddenly hit me: she’d bought them especially for today, so she could run with me!

  “Most people don’t just decide to climb a mountain,” I said. “Usually they do some training first.”

  Kneecap glared at me. “I’m not doing this because I want to,” she snapped. “I’m doing it because I’m trying to be your friend!”

  With that, she jogged ahead of me up the road. I walked behind her, feeling like a chump.

  “You do know that I’ve been running si
nce dawn, right?” I called out. “My sparkling personality might have fizzled a bit.”

  “Ya think?” she shouted back. She jogged even faster.

  I thought: When will this race start being fun?

  The pink trail flags turned right, leading us onto a trail rutted with tread marks. The path ran uphill, alongside a chain of foamy pools and waterfalls. The smell of rotting wood filled the forest, and the gurgling stream sounded like babies laughing. The trail became steeper and zigzagged back and forth in sharp switchbacks. It felt like we were climbing stairs.

  I watched the backs of Kneecap’s brown legs as we jogged. I could tell that she was starting to hurt. Sure enough, pretty soon she slowed down and started walking. I ran up beside her.

  “How can you do this?” she gasped.

  “Do what?” I said.

  “Run a hundred miles like this? It’s insane.”

  The corners of her mouth were turned down.

  “I have superpowers, remember?”

  “Oh, right,” she said. “I forgot.”

  We spent the next 15 minutes climbing what my dad had called the apron of the mountain. Only this time there wasn’t any mist, so we could see how high we were getting. When we came to a clearing, I saw a tiny boat crossing Hither Lake, half a kilometre below. Little black waves fanned out behind it like a capital V. I stopped while Kneecap gasped for breath. “You’re not even breathing hard,” she said, looking at me. “We really need to get you a spandex costume.”

  She was being sarcastic, but I figured I’d play along. “I need a superhero name first,” I said.

  “How about Puke Man?” Kneecap suggested.

  Ha. Funny. Play it cool, I thought. “Doesn’t really have a great ring to it,” I said.

  “I guess not,” agreed Kneecap. “How about Skeletor?”

  “I’m not that skinny,” I said.

  “Sure you are. You’ve got legs like a chicken.”

  “Do not,” I said.

  “Do too,” said Kneecap. “They’re kinda cute though.”

  We continued climbing. Kneecap said, “Forget about the name. What you need is a good catchphrase.”

  “Like how the Hulk says, ‘It’s clobbering time!’”

  “Yeah, but that one’s already taken,” said Kneecap.

  I thought for a moment. “What about: Best Foot Forward?”

  Kneecap shrieked with laughter. “That’s the lamest thing I ever heard!”

  I laughed too. It was pretty lame, I had to admit. “How about Run Like Snot!” I offered.

  “Not bad,” said Kneecap. “How about To The Finish Line And Beyond!”

  “Meh,” I said.

  “Wait a second,” said Kneecap. “I’ve got it. Kick Some Shins!”

  Her face was bright red, so I suggested we take a break. We stepped back from the cliff face and sat down in the shade.

  “Seriously,” she said. “Kick Some Shins. That’s pretty good, right?”

  “Good-ish,” I said.

  Kneecap glanced at the forest behind us. “Aren’t you worried about the bears?” she asked.

  “Not yet,” I said. “But ask me again tonight, when it gets dark.”

  She crawled back to the ledge and looked down at the valley. She shivered. “Have you been singing much?” she asked.

  “A bit,” I said.

  “Don’t tell me,” she said. “‘Run Baby Run’?”

  “I’ve written other songs besides that one,” I said.

  She smiled. “I know. I’m just teasing.”

  Just then, I heard a familiar noise. Jingle bells. I swung around.

  “Hey there, Lucky Number Thirteen!”

  Kara was bounding up the trail behind us.

  “I thought you were ahead of me,” I said.

  “I was,” Kara laughed. “Until my body fell apart, that is. I spent a half hour cooling my legs in the lake.”

  Her knee was wrapped in a tensor bandage.

  “What happened?” I asked.

  “It’s nothing,” she said. “The cold water brought down the swelling a bit, plus I’ve got lots of Advil.” She turned to Kneecap and threw out her hand. “Hi there,” she said. “I’m Kara.”

  “This is my friend Kneecap,” I said.

  They shook hands. “Pleased to meet you,” said Kara. “Did you lose your number, or are you a bandit?”

  “What’s a bandit?” said Kneecap.

  “Someone who runs the race illegally.”

  Kneecap thought about this. “I’m not running the race,” she said. “I’m just here for moral support.”

  “Sort of,” I said.

  Kneecap glared at me.

  A red squirrel scolded us from the top of a tree. Kara stepped around the two of us and continued bounding up the hill. “Come on!” she called back. “Let’s make some time!”

  We did our best to keep up with her. “Kara’s a cop,” I explained to Kneecap.

  “Really?” Kneecap said. “And here we are, breaking the speed limit!”

  The path veered right and we crossed a huge basin filled with loose scree. Kara led the way, hopping from boulder to boulder.

  “How much farther to the top?” Kneecap asked.

  “Probably about a mile,” said Kara.

  The trail edged back to the cliff, and the three of us found ourselves walking in single file along a narrow ledge. A curl of blue smoke rose out of the valley far below. Kara scrabbled along the path like a mountain goat.

  “The wind’s strong up here,” I said.

  “Cold too,” said Kneecap.

  “Enjoy it while you can,” said Kara. “It’ll be hotter than an oven on the other side.”

  I looked back at Kneecap. Her face was greenish grey, the colour of pressure-treated wood.

  “You okay?” I called out.

  She was staring at the water far below. “This is the craziest sport in the world,” she said.

  We walked a little farther and the trail broadened out. Relieved, I moved back from the ledge. Kara stood at the top of the ridge, waiting for us to catch up. Kneecap bent over and rubbed the backs of her legs. “What do they give you when you cross the finish line?” she asked. “A car?”

  “A belt buckle,” Kara said.

  Kneecap’s smile folded. “A what?” she said.

  “Belt buckle.”

  Kneecap shot me a you-gotta-be-joking look.

  “And get this,” Kara added. “You only get the belt buckle if you finish in twenty-four hours. Take longer than that and you don’t get anything at all.”

  Kneecap shook her head in disbelief. “Nuts, nuts, totally nuts,” she said.

  “Kara won this race last year,” I said.

  “No way.”

  “Way.”

  Kneecap smiled weakly at Kara. “And all you got for it was a belt buckle?” she said.

  “It’s not about the prize,” said Kara.

  “What’s it about?”

  “Enduring.”

  A gust of wind threw us against the rock face. We crouched down. Kneecap was still massaging her legs.

  “You okay, hon?” Kara asked.

  “I think I’ve got shin splints.”

  “Those aren’t your shins.”

  “Really? What are they?”

  “Your calves.”

  Kneecap smirked. “Yeah? So I’ve got calf splints then.”

  The sunlight flickered, and I glanced up. A glider plane, white as a ghost, circled silently above our heads. Chimney Top’s blunted summit loomed not far away. We still had to get to the top of that crest.

  “Come on,” said Kara. “Final push.”

  Ten minutes later we reached the summit. The wind was fierce, so we walked in single file across the plateau. Kara went first, then me, then Kneecap. At last we came to the massive blade of rock that everyone calls the Shark’s Fin. We sat down behind it, sheltered from the wind. Kara shrugged off her hydration pack and leaned back against the rock.

  “Anyone wa
nt raisins?” she asked.

  Kneecap took a handful. Her face was blotchy and her shirt was soaked with sweat.

  “Having fun?” Kara asked her.

  “No,” said Kneecap. “It feels like my brain has turned to oatmeal.”

  “Want some yams?” I asked, pulling out my bag.

  “Have they got salt on them? Yessss!”

  Kneecap popped a chunk of sweet potato into her mouth and closed her eyes.

  “That’ll give you strength,” Kara said.

  “It tastes like I’m eating the sun,” said Kneecap.

  I stared down at the valley. It was misty green, and hay-coloured sunshine fell in stripes over the hills. I unclasped my hydration pack and pulled out the bladder to see how much water I had left. I’d drunk a lot on the trip up the mountain, but the bladder was still three-quarters full. I stuffed it back into the hydration pack.

  “How did you get your nickname?” Kara asked Kneecap.

  “My older brother gave it to me,” Kneecap said, swinging her legs back and forth.

  “She used to knee him,” I said. “Where it counts.”

  Kara winced. “There are laws against that,” she said.

  “I was just a kid,” said Kneecap.

  For a few moments, nobody said anything. Kara and Kneecap chewed their raisins.

  “Speaking of nicknames,” Kneecap said, turning to me, “I figured out your superhero name.”

  “What is it?” I said.

  She smiled at me. “The Lactator.”

  “The what?” I said.

  “Isn’t that one of your superpowers?” she asked. “Your body makes a ton of lactic acid, right?”

  “No,” I said. “It doesn’t make much.”

  “Oh,” said Kneecap. “Then it’s not such a good name.”

  Kara repacked her bag of raisins. “I haven’t got a clue what you kids are talking about,” she said.

  “Wait a second,” said Kneecap. “What about Ultra Boy? You’re a boy, and you run ultra-marathons.”

  “This is the first one I’ve run,” I said. “And I haven’t even finished it yet.”

  “Details, details,” said Kneecap. “I think Ultra Boy rocks.”

  I looked down the mountain. A line of colourful dots was bobbing up the trail we’d just climbed. Other runners.

  “Break time’s over,” said Kara. “Ready to push on?”

  “No thanks,” said Kneecap. “My work here is done. You two will have to carry on without me.”