Alan Cook - Run into Trouble

“I like to surprise you.”

“It’s a surprise, all right. But…” Melody looked around as more optional men came into view. “Not necessarily a bad one.”

“Where are the girls? There are supposed to be girls here.”

Melody patted Drake on the back. “Aw, poor Drake. No naked birds to ogle. In your body’s present state it’s probably just as well. We don’t want to place any extra strain on it.”

Drake glared at her. He had already been going slowly and was now moving at what could only be described as at a labored walk.

“It’s not worth it. I’ve been watching you all day. The money isn’t worth your pain and anguish. Let’s call the whole thing off.” Melody repeated her last sentence, singing it to the tune of the song with the same name.

“You always were the sensible one. All right, we’ll tell Fred as soon as we get to our motel, or wherever we’re staying tonight. We’ll leave Casey alone to play whatever game he’s playing.”

Although Fred wasn’t wearing a tie, he still looked like a businessman with his pressed pants, expensive shoes, and sweater worn over a white shirt. Because the day was too warm for the sweater, his face was red and wet, and he mopped it with a large handkerchief. Casey had done the same thing. Were plus-size handkerchiefs standard issue at Giganticorp? Fred drove Drake, Melody, and a young woman they hadn’t seen before to their motel near the campus of the University of California at San Diego.

The woman, who was dressed more casually than Fred, in shorts and a Running California shirt, had met Drake and Melody on the beach where the day’s run officially ended. She clicked her stopwatch as they came up to her and introduced herself as Grace Harbison, a Giganticorp employee. She must be one of the race officials mentioned in the written briefing they had received that morning concerning the day’s route. She called Drake Mr. Drake.

She led them up a steep hill from the beach. Grace and Melody climbed it effortlessly, or so it seemed to Drake, but it almost did him in and increased his resolve to quit the race. After they had registered at the motel, Fred escorted them to Drake’s room and asked them both to go inside with him.

He closed the door, sat on the bed, placed an attache case he was carrying on his lap, and clicked open the metal latches. He raised the top and extracted two bank passbooks, handing one to Melody and one to Drake.

“We have opened passbook savings accounts for each of you at our corporate bank in San Jose. After you finish each day’s run we’ll deposit five hundred dollars in each of your accounts. You can phone the bank to verify your balance and get your passbook updated when you are in the San Jose area. The money becomes yours as soon as you finish the race. Needless to say, don’t discuss this arrangement with any of the other runners.”

“How did you get the passbooks so fast?” Melody asked. “Casey just made us the offer this morning.”

Fred’s already large mouth expanded when he smiled. “We work fast at Giganticorp. If you must know, Grace flew down from corporate this afternoon and brought them with her.”

“I’m impressed.” Melody looked at Drake, waiting for him to speak. He was bending down to stretch his back, his face contorted. When he didn’t say anything, she said, “We appreciate your, ah, generosity, Fred, but Drake has something to tell you.”

Drake didn’t picture himself as a quitter. Telling Melody he was going to quit was one thing; telling Fred was entirely different. It was difficult for him to get the words out of his mouth.

“The situation is this. Running the equivalent of a marathon every day is very hard on an athlete’s body, even an athlete in splendid condition, which I’m not at the moment. I…well I can’t do it. I’m going to have to drop out. We’ll forfeit the money for today.”

“Nonsense.” Fred’s smile never wavered. “I’ve got an appointment with a chiropractor for you in…” he checked his watch, “…one hour. Peaches will drive you. In a week you’ll be as good as new. You’ve got a few challenges, but you’ve overcome worse problems.”

Melody frowned. “How far ahead of us are the others?”

Fred shrugged. “Don’t worry about it. We’re paying you to stay with Running California. You add a lot of color to the program. The others all look the same, even Aki. They run the same, like robots. They ran in a posse today, and all nine teams finished within fifteen minutes of each other. We need you two-Melody, because you’re an exceptional woman, and Drake, because you’re a hero.”

Drake was torn. He didn’t feel as bad as he thought he might. Of course, they still weren’t running marathon distance.

Melody apparently didn’t have any conflict. “I’m sorry, Fred, but he can’t do it. We’re through.”

Fred rose from the bed. “There’s a reporter in the lobby who wants to talk to you. This is a good time while you’re still sweaty and have your running clothes on. We want the press to appreciate what you’re doing.”

He ignored Melody’s words of protest and led them out the door.

On the section from Torrey Pines to the Oceanside entrance to Camp Pendleton, we will run on the beach the whole way. Because this is a populated area, it is safer and sometimes faster to run on the beach. You’re used to beach running by now, and it should be no problem. You will be passing through a number of lovely beaches, including Del Mar, Solana, Cardiff by the Sea, Encinitas, Leucadia, Carlsbad, and Oceanside. If the beach is difficult to negotiate at high tide, you can temporarily run on the road.

The ringing telephone woke Drake from a dream in which he was attempting to run somewhere, but large rocks and other obstacles kept getting in his way. He opened his eyes. A rosy glow behind the thin curtains told him that the sun was almost up. Should he try to answer the phone? It had been easier for him to turn over during the night than it had the night before.

When the phone kept ringing its persistent double brrrr he couldn’t think of any excuses to ignore it. He reached out his arm and lifted the receiver.

“This is your wakeup call. It’s six a.m.”

Drake growled something back at the too-pleasant voice and dropped the receiver on the cradle. He stretched, trying to get a reading on his back. The pain was still there when he moved. What were they doing today? Oh yes, he and Melody were quitting Running California and going home. They had talked about spending a couple of days together first-on holiday, as she phrased it, but nothing had been settled.

Fred had not only refused to accept their resignations, he had made them talk to the reporter just as if they were still in the race. The young man was a sports reporter by trade and had wanted to talk about the athletic aspects of the race. Drake had played down his injuries while they discussed how one prepared for and maintained conditioning during ultra-marathoning, a term used by the reporter.

It would be fun to be alone with Melody for a few days. Just like old times, hopefully. Drake rolled onto his side, sat up, and headed for the shower.

“Mr. Drake?”

Drake turned and saw the middle-aged woman at the reception desk. Her voice sounded like the voice on the phone. He was meeting Melody here. They were going to the cafe next door to eat a real breakfast. The continental breakfast served by the motel wouldn’t sustain them.

“I have an envelope for you.”

“For me?”

“You are Mr. Drake, aren’t you?”

“Yes.”

How did she know? It wasn’t difficult. He was the only guest at the motel with a bandage on his face. Somebody must have told her that. He took the proffered envelope, thanked her, and sat down at one of the small tables in the lobby area where a few early rising guests were drinking coffee and eating sweet rolls.