Ultra

by Carroll David

  At some point, a memory came into my head. A memory from when I was 3 years old. I remembered this cat named Zeus we used to have. He was old and asthmatic and he wheezed loudly when he slept.

  One night I begged Daddy to let me take Zeus for a ride in my stroller. Daddy said okay, but you’ll have to hang on to him tight.

  Daddy lifted Zeus into the stroller beside me and then he rolled us down the smooth asphalt driveway on Champlain Drive. I cuddled Zeus in my arms as if he were my baby, and he purred like Mom’s sewing machine as we rolled down the sidewalk. The stroller had rubber wheels that went ka-thlump ka-thlump as they rolled over the sidewalk cracks. The sky was as blue as our recycling box, and I could see the whole sweep of it behind Daddy’s face as he ran.

  Keep the legs moving. Keep the legs moving.

  Zeus. Me. Daddy. The blue sky. I smiled at the memory and rolled my head sideways.

  Instantly, the light from my headlamp played across the trees, and four yellow eyes stared back at me.

  Two of the eyes were level with the ground, but the other two were high up in the trees. A cougar, maybe? Getting ready to pounce? The eyes blinked and went out. The ones on the ground kept staring at me.

  A bolt of fear shot down my spine. I pointed my headlamp back down at the trail and kept running.

  Keep the legs moving. Keep the legs moving!

  Finally, when I thought I couldn’t run any farther, a pinprick of green appeared down the trail. I ran toward it. It bobbed back and forth between the trees. It was a glow stick, dangling from a tree branch!

  I ran farther down the trail and saw another glow stick. There was another one after that, and then another one after that.

  Ten minutes later, I saw the light of a campfire. Somebody zapped my eyeballs with a flashlight.

  “Runner!” a familiar voice cried out.

  It was the most delicious sound I’d ever heard.

  COME WHAT MAY

  Mile 83

  It was two in the morning and I was still on my feet. I’d been running (and power walking) for 20 hours.

  Two people clapped as I hobbled into the checkpoint. A horse whinnied somewhere in the darkness.

  “You’re looking fresh!” a woman said.

  “Don’t lie,” I growled.

  A lantern was burning on a picnic table, and above it, a disco ball hung from a tree branch. The light from the lantern bounced off the twirling ball and fractured into a thousand pinpricks of light.

  The woman took my water bottle and refilled it from a plastic keg. She was young and pretty and her hair was the colour of a banana. “I’m Kaylin,” she said. “And you must be Quinn.”

  I nodded but didn’t say anything. My brain was too fried to come up with an answer.

  “I’ll bet you’re starving,” said Kaylin. “What can I get you?”

  Two pots were bubbling on a camp stove. The propane gas made a high-pitched whistle. “I’ve got soup and lasagna,” Kaylin said.

  “Maybe in a couple minutes,” I said. All I wanted was that candy bar in my drop bag.

  A short-haired man was sticking logs on the fire. I nearly fell over, suddenly realizing who he was. “What are you doing here?” I said.

  He looked up. “Hey, kiddo,” he said.

  I rushed over and he hugged me tightly. It was like being wrapped in pure sunshine. I instantly felt warmer, feeling the bulk of his belly.

  “But how the heck did you get here?” I said.

  “I grabbed a late flight,” he said.

  I drank in the sight of him. The disco lights swirled across the backdrop of trees. This couldn’t be happening — not really.

  “What’s wrong?” said Dad.

  “You can’t really be here,” I said. “It’s not possible.”

  He laughed. “Nothing is impossible,” he said. “You should know that better than anyone. You’re running a hundred miles in one day. Most people would say that was impossible.”

  He took my hand and led me toward a chair.

  “No,” I said. “I can’t sit down.”

  “Why not?”

  “Bruce told me to beware the chair.”

  Dad chuckled. “Don’t worry about that,” he said. “I’ll make sure you get up and running again — that’s a promise.”

  I sat down for the first time in what felt like weeks. It felt better than my birthday and Christmas morning put together. I stretched my hands toward the fire. The warmth of those flames was sweeter than sleep.

  Dad knelt down on one knee and poked at the fire with a stick. The shadows of the flames licked grooves into his face.

  “So you’re telling me you flew here?” I said, still not really believing it.

  “Sure did,” he said.

  “And how was your flight?” I asked.

  “Long,” he said.

  He had pebbles for eyes and his usual brush cut. He looked a bit older than I remembered.

  “How long can you stay?” I asked.

  “How long do you want me to stay?”

  “Forever, of course!”

  Dad laughed. I knew he couldn’t stay.

  I looked over at Kaylin, who was standing behind the stove. She smiled and stirred her pot of soup.

  “Anything wrong?” Dad asked.

  “I’m cold.”

  Dad unclipped my hydration pack and pulled it off my shoulders and refilled it at the plastic keg.

  Meanwhile, I fumbled to open the zipper of my drop bag. I dug out my two extra shirts and my pair of tights, that chocolate bar I’d been dreaming of and my weatherproof gloves. Then I zipped up my drop bag and sat back down by the fire.

  Dad came back. His smile was slanted.

  “What?” I asked.

  “I wish I was running this race with you, that’s all.”

  “You can run the rest of it for me if you want,” I said. “I’ve had enough of this crap. Here, take my bib.”

  I began pulling the safety pins out of my shirt.

  “Don’t,” said Dad. “No one can finish this race but you.”

  “But I don’t want to finish,” I said. “This whole thing is so stupid.”

  Dad re-pinned the racing bib onto my shirt. “I know we were supposed to run this race together,” he said. “I’m really sorry that didn’t happen.”

  He gave me back my hydration pack. I tried not to feel sad. I thought about all the times Dad and I had run the trails near our house. All the times he’d farted and blamed it on me.

  I pulled on my extra shirts. Then, after checking to see that Kaylin wasn’t watching, I yanked off my shoes and shorts and pulled on my tights. This took a long time, since my fingers felt like slugs, but I finally managed to get them up to my waist.

  I unwrapped my candy bar. Dad took out a cigarette.

  “You started again?” I asked.

  “Yeah.” He pulled a book of matches out of his pocket and stared at it for a long time. Eventually he tossed the cigarette into the fire and picked up a bag of licorice instead.

  “You’ve run eighty-three miles in twenty hours,” he said. “You’re doing all right, Quinn. Better than all right.”

  “I suppose so,” I said. “At least I’m not dead. Yippee for me. Here’s to not being dead.”

  “Yippee for you,” Dad agreed. He turned his camp chair so we were facing each other. The smoke from the fire blew between us and made him look cloudy. He not only looked older, he looked thinner too.

  “You’ve still got your sense of humour,” he said.

  “I don’t know,” I said. “Kneecap called me a fun vampire.”

  Dad nodded and opened the bag of licorice. “I know it’s hard,” he said. “But when this is all over, I bet you’ll think this was a great adventure.”

  I wasn’t sure if he was talking about the race anymore. I took a bite of my candy bar. I wanted to tell him how much the race sucked and how much I hated him for making me sign up. But instead I said, “I’ve still got seventeen miles to go. That’s only
one, two, three, four … Wait. I’ve forgotten how to count that high.”

  Dad gripped the plastic armrest on my chair. “I know it hurts,” he said. “But pain can be good. Pain is how we learn. If you’re not feeling any pain, then you’re not learning anything.”

  What the heck was he talking about now? “My butt is killing me, Dad,” I said. “My cheeks feel like two sheets of sandpaper rubbing together. And my knees — holy cow! It’s like someone unscrewed my kneecaps and poured gravel in the holes. Plus, I’ve been hallucinating. I had a conversation with the Wind.”

  Dad stared at the fire and nodded. “Did it say anything important?” he asked.

  Kaylin stopped stirring her pot and looked over.

  “It asked me to help look for its shadow,” I said.

  “But the Wind doesn’t have a shadow,” Dad said.

  “I know that,” I said.

  Dad bit the end off a licorice twist. A light from the disco ball flashed across his face. “I used to hallucinate too,” he said.

  “You did?”

  He nodded. “Last year at Western States, around mile sixty-two, I washed my face in a stream and saw a monkey grinning back at me.”

  Somewhere, that horse whinnied again. I shivered.

  “I used to see buildings in the forest too,” Dad went on. “Factories, houses, mosques with minarets.”

  I didn’t know what a minaret was then. But I pretended that I did.

  “Are hallucinations dangerous?” I asked.

  “Nah.” He took another bite of licorice. “They’re just a reminder to eat more sugar.” He held out the bag. “Want one?”

  “No thanks,” I said. “I’ve eaten too much sugar. I’ll be pooping cotton candy if I eat any more.”

  Dad nodded and went on chewing. I reached down and pulled off my socks. My feet were swollen and grey and lumpy, like oatmeal.

  “Wow,” said Dad. “That’s impressive.”

  Four angry blisters — each one larger than a toonie — lit up the soles of my feet.

  “What should I do?” I said.

  Dad shrugged and turned back to the fire. Kaylin wandered over. “Let me see those puppies,” she said.

  “That’s okay,” I said. “My dad’ll patch me up.”

  “Who?” Kaylin said.

  I looked around but he’d disappeared. He must’ve gone off to pee in the woods. Kaylin knelt down and looked at my feet. “Nice,” she said, sucking air between her teeth. “I need to treat these blisters — right now.”

  Treat them? “How?” I said.

  “Don’t worry,” said Kaylin. “I’m trained in first aid.”

  She filled a basin with water and squirted some dishwashing soap into it and sloshed the water around. She washed my feet and then she popped the blisters with a pin. I guess I must have screamed a bit.

  “Don’t worry,” she said again. “I’ve seen worse.”

  She dried my feet with paper towels. Then she took something long and thin out of her pocket.

  “What’s that?” I asked. It was a tube of Krazy Glue.

  “Runner’s best friend,” Kaylin said.

  She squirted a blob of glue into each blister. Then she pressed the flaps of skin together.

  “Good as new,” she said, spooling duct tape around my feet. Then she pulled my socks and shoes back on and re-tied the laces.

  I tried standing up. My feet didn’t hurt as much as before. They felt like they’d been smeared with clay and were starting to harden.

  “Okay now,” said Kaylin. “Before your body goes into shock, I need to get some food into you.”

  “I already had a chocolate bar,” I said.

  “That’s not enough,” said Kaylin. “When’s the last time you had some real food?”

  I looked at my watch. “I had some PB & J back at Ratjaw almost five hours ago.”

  “Then you need to eat. Like I said, I’ve got lasagna and chicken noodle soup. What’ll it be?”

  “I’ll take the soup, I guess.”

  Kaylin walked back to the picnic table.

  “She fixed your feet, huh?” Dad said, surprising me.

  Somehow he’d materialized beside me. I fought back the urge to ask him where he’d been.

  “Yeah,” I said. “They feel a bit better. Thanks a lot for all your help.”

  Dad ignored my sarcasm. “Did she give you something for your chafing?” he asked.

  “My what?”

  “Your butt cheeks. You said they felt like sandpaper.”

  My face went hot. “I didn’t tell her about that,” I said.

  “Don’t be embarrassed,” Dad said. “It happens to all runners. Just ask her if she has any ointment.”

  “No way,” I said. “I’ll survive.”

  A log on the fire crackled, and the sparks flew high into the air. Dad followed them with his eyes and then kept staring at the sky.

  “You’re passing through a hallway,” he said.

  What the heck was that supposed to mean? “I’m sorry?” I said.

  “You’ve closed a door on one part of your life,” Dad said, “but you haven’t opened the door to the next room yet. You’re in a hallway, waiting for the next thing to happen. Don’t worry, another door will open soon enough.”

  I didn’t have a clue what he was talking about. Dad smiled, but it wasn’t a happy smile.

  Kaylin came back over with a cup full of soup. The noodles were crunchy, but the salty broth was good.

  “By the way,” Kaylin said, “you’re in sixth place.”

  That’s weird, I thought. I’d been in fifth place at the last rest stop, but two people — Kara and the Dirt Eater — had passed me.

  “Are you sure I’m not seventh?” I said.

  “Nope,” said Kaylin. “One of the leaders dropped out.”

  “Who, Kara?” I said.

  “Oh no, she came through here an hour ago. She looked great. She was flying.”

  I thought of something. “Was it the guy in the Eat My Dirt T-shirt?”

  “You mean Ted,” said Kaylin, her lips pressed tightly together. “No, he was looking strong too.”

  I wondered how Kern, the bandit, was doing. But he was running in secret, so I didn’t mention his name.

  Kneecap’s phone vibrated. I pulled it out of my belt. It read: GO QUINN GO!

  “What’s that?” asked Dad.

  “Ollie must be awake,” I said.

  I held the phone up so he could see the text.

  Dad smiled. “It’s getting late,” he said. He looked at me meaningfully. “It’s time you got out of that chair.”

  “I don’t want to go,” I said. “It’s so warm here.” My fingers and toes tingled in the warmth of the fire.

  “You have to start sometime,” he said. “You’ve got a long way left to run.”

  “Thanks for reminding me.”

  Dad put another log on the fire. It sizzled and roared to life.

  “Maybe I’ll DNF,” I said. “You wanted to DNF in New York, remember?”

  “I was injured,” Dad said.

  “I’m injured,” I said.

  “Where’s your injury?”

  “Here.” I pressed my hands to my heart.

  Dad poked at a burnt log with a stick. “That’ll heal,” he said. “That thing is stronger than you think.”

  He handed me a plastic bag filled with nuts, chips and chocolate cookies. Then he pulled me to my feet.

  “You can do anything you set your mind to,” Dad said. “And don’t forget, you still need to visit the Shrine.”

  I pulled my hydration pack over my T-shirts. My body felt as stiff as an ironing board. I looked down the trail. It was blacker than a black hole. It looked as if someone had taken a picture of a black hole and smeared black shoe polish all over it.

  “You really want me to go in there?” I asked.

  Dad winked at me. “You’re a terrific kid,” he said. “Have I told you that lately?”

  I shook my hea
d and set off, jogging slowly. My body crackled with pain. The chicken soup sloshed inside my belly.

  “This is the stupidest thing I’ve ever done!” I shouted. “I’m never doing this ever again!”

  I expected my dad to reply with something funny, but instead Kaylin shouted, “Don’t give up!”

  Her voice sounded far away, as if she were underwater. I turned around to wave, hoping to see my dad, but the rest stop had vanished, and all I could see was the darkness.

  ANOTHER SURPRISE

  Mile 88

  Somewhere over the next few miles, things started getting tough.

  I know I’ve made it sound like things were tough already. But things were about to get ultra tough.

  For instance, at Mile 85, I ran headfirst into a tree. I crumpled to the ground, my forehead gushing blood, and for a few minutes I just lay there, giggling in the dirt.

  Then, at Mile 86, my headlamp started flickering.

  Great, I thought. Just what I need! If my batteries died, I’d be stuck on the trail all night long.

  I slapped my headlamp, and the light stopped flickering and grew brighter. Awesome! I thought. But how long would it last?

  At Mile 88 I reached the toughest stretch of all. It began with the train tracks and then it got worse.

  The train tracks ran along a high, narrow ridge, and it was instantly obvious that they weren’t used by trains anymore. Shrubs and sawgrass grew between the rails and some small trees were growing between the cross ties.

  The trail markers ran along the edge of the tracks, so I walked between the rails for a while. The cross ties were a foot apart — too close together to run comfortably on — so I hopped up on the rail and tightroped along that. It was tricky, and I kept falling off, so after a while I gave up and went back to jogging along the edge of the tracks. The rail bed curved south, glowing blue in the light of the moon. The trees on both sides of me waggled in the breeze.

  Another beep from my watch. It was now 3 a.m. I began switching back and forth between running and walking. I’d walk until I got cold and then I’d run to warm up, and when my legs couldn’t run anymore, I’d go back to walking again. My headlamp was still shining brightly, thank God. Why hadn’t I been smart enough to bring extra batteries?

  Suddenly I noticed that the trees on either side of me were gone. The bushes and sawgrass had disappeared too. I flashed my headlamp all around. What happened to all the trees? I wondered.