The Thin Line - The Short Story Of A Runner

The Thin Line

  Eric A. Schmidt

  Copyright @ 2012 Eric A. Schmidt

  A phone call woke him before the alarm on his cell phone, programmed for 7:30 am, went off.

  He was rather annoyed with the noise that was clearly cheating him of sleep and he groaned when he rolled over to silence the harsh, mechanical buzzing. Every minute of rest was precious to him.

  “Mmh…hello?”

  “Oh my God! I’m so sorry. I thought you’d be awake. You usually get up at 7:00.” The voice on the other end of the line was high-pitched and squeaky.

  “Mmm…it’s okay. I’m up. What’s up, sweetie?”

  “Nothing, but I just know you and I will be in class all day today so I was worried about calling at a different time. I just wanted to confirm our plans for tonight.”

  “Tonight?”

  “Yes, remember? You said that you were going to take me out to that new Italian place that just opened up off campus. Don’t you remember? We talked about it yesterday afternoon. You promised!” The slight whine in her voice made him cringe. He instinctively felt guilty for not being around enough for her. He did remember that was supposed to take her out to dinner. But tonight was also the night he was supposed to finish his lab for quantum mechanics. He sighed to himself just quietly enough to not be heard over the phone. A promise is a promise.

  “I do.” He finally said, “I’m happy to go with you. What time?”

  “Is 8 o’clock okay?”

  “Perfect. I’ll swing by your dorm and we’ll walk over together. I’ll see you then.”

  “Great!”

  He hung up the phone and tried to gather enough energy to wrest himself from the warmth of his blanket. His legs flung themselves heavily over the side of the bed and he willed himself to sit up. His eyes were still closed and he breathed deeply. The room he was sleeping in was absolutely spotless. Everything was dusted and organized. His clothes were all put away and his textbooks were categorized by subject and then placed in alphabetical order within the respective subjects.

  He stood up and stretched his arms into the air and then he bent down to touch his toes. There wasn’t an ounce of fat on his body and his muscles and limbs resembled a limber jungle cat. The well-defined quads and biceps rippled with the effort of the early morning stretch. He was wearing only a digital watch, which had a severe tan line underneath it. After pulling on a pair of boxers, retrieved from a drawer with seven other perfectly folded boxer shorts of the same blue hue, he reached for the ground again and did 100 pushups and 200 sit-ups. He grunted only minimally during the effort. Once this ritual was completed he walked out of the room with a slight glisten of sweat on his back and proceeded to bound down the stairwell. His legs were tight and seemed to have a nagging, lingering tiredness in them.

  The house he lived in was an old home that always had been occupied by young college men who never took good care of it. It was probably built in the 1940s and it always appeared as if a party had just been held there. Beer cans perpetually littered the backyard and driveway and the living room smelled of moldy cheese and burnt toast. There were four other bedrooms in the house aside from his. They were all in shambles; clothes covered the floors, beds were unmade, and half-eaten food was always present on their desks. Except for his.

  After reaching the kitchen, he promptly tidied up the mess. After 20 minutes of fastidious cleaning the space was revived into a useable state once again. Next came breakfast, which consisted of a bowl of cereal. He measured out exactly one cup of shredded wheat, poured it into a bowl and followed that with one cup of skim milk. A glass of orange juice, also exactly one cup, was included along with a banana.

  While eating he went through the mail and proceeded to pay the bills for the house, as it was nearing the end of the month. He methodically went through each payment and wrote out checks for the respective amounts that were due. His hand writing was flawless and could’ve stood in for a type font. The bills were mailed out, the payments were recorded, and then he quickly pulled on athletic shorts and sneakers and bolted out the door, sans shirt.

  It was 60 degrees and sunny. His brown hair, which was getting a little long, bounced carelessly as he plodded along. He started his stopwatch the second he began running. What started as a slow trot soon turned into a full-blown, 10mph run. Suddenly, someone jumped along next to him and began matching him stride for stride. This newcomer’s unexpected presence caused him to jump but he soon recognized the company and regained his composure.

  “Hey, whatsup, man?” The newcomer cheerfully asked.

  “Hey Dan”, he said. “You startled me. I didn’t think you’d be coming today.”

  Dan, the newcomer, was taller and had a head of handsome, wavy, jet black hair along with a sleek jaw line. Dan was leaner but somehow also more muscular.

  “Hey, you know me”, said Dan, “I’m always around, especially to join you for a run. I saw you from the quad and I figured I would tag along. I just got started too.” He seemed very comfortable with the pace.

  “Cool, glad to have you along.” He gritted his teeth and accelerated.

  The next several miles passed mostly in silence with only the occasional interjection of pleasant chit chat. The two had amped up their pace considerably. Dan tried to keep the conversation going in a vain attempt to mask the fact that the two were beginning to race each other.

  “So what kind of mileage are you working on now?”

  His chest was beginning to labor to bring in enough oxygen. He tried to gauge Dan’s breathing to see if their inhalations were comparable, “I…am…working…on a 100 miles a week now.”

  “Wow, I don’t think anyone else on the team is doing that sort of a load. I’m getting close though. This week will be 95.”

  “Whew…yea…well…we’ll…see…how it goes.”

  “So, how many you planning to do today?”

  His panting was growing heavy and noticeable, although when he spoke he tried to veil it, “14 for this morning. We’ve already done 7. So, 7 more and I’ll call it a day…whew.” Dan was still breathing through his nostrils and sounded very in control.

  The pair grew silent as they cruised down the quiet roads. It was autumn and the leaves were beginning to change color and drift to the earth. The dried leaves on the road gave an audible crunch when they ran over them. The two athletes flew down the streets through tranquil suburban neighborhoods. Viewing the pair from the side gave the impression of a jumble of swiftly rotating lower limbs that appeared in danger of tangling and forming a knot. Their arms were churning as rapidly as the carbines of a steam locomotive and their breathing was as loud as the roar of a combustion engine. The tangents of the turns were taken more and more tightly with each passing meter and before long the two were all-out racing. Their explosive yet elegant energy blasted away the serenity of the quiet morning.

  He struck out and accelerated with the hope of dropping Dan. Dan came back though and held the lead for 15 seconds before dropping back again. It was as if they were locked in a boxing match of surges and accelerations. Each punch was gradually grinding them down. Neither runner was showing a sign of giving in though. Their eyes burned with ferocity. Dan kept staring straight ahead.

  They blew by an elderly cyclist and were now taking the turns so tightly that they almost knocked over two different mailboxes. Finally, the finish was in sight. There was nothing left to hold back. Both were in an all-out sprint. They saw nothing but a tunneled vision to the finish. Each step was quicker than the last and each runner found it within himself to accelerate jus
t a little more. Dan put his head down and somehow, from somewhere, he dug out one last final kick and brought the race to a finish just a second ahead of his teammate.

  Dan kept jogging but his teammate immediately stopped to grab his knees. He swayed like a tower in the wind. For a moment, he thought he would pass out. His head felt heavy and his legs seemed to be filled with wet, burning sand. He couldn’t feel his arms and his tongue had the sharp taste of copper on it. The two shared a hand slap as he stood bent over in front of his old, run-down house. He staggered as he straightened his back.

  “I…don’t…know…how…you…do…it…Dan. That was some fine running.” His breath was heavy.

  “Yea...tell me about it…you’re getting me into really good shape. You’ll be ready for the Conference Meet this weekend”, said Dan.

  “Yea, wow. I don’t know how you always do it. Always a step ahead of