rest. Maybe he could steal this race. Maybe he could out-kick the kickers.
The bell sounded and Manny caught the shout of the timer: 1:41. He was alone out in front, but he could feel the track shaking behind him. The speedsters were in pursuit. That 30-second last lap Serrano had imagined just might come true after all.
His arms and legs were aching, but that didn’t matter at all. Every breath was labored. He moved out slightly from the rail, wanting to make those chasing him work even harder by forcing them to the second lane. He could hear them coming. He could almost feel their breaths.
Down the backstretch, still in the lead. The spectators were all standing now, all urging on their favorites. Manny wouldn’t look back. All of his focus was ahead of him.
He raced into the last turn and there was Serrano, his arms swinging as high as his chin as he pumped and churned and pulled even. Manny kept pace. He knew at least two others were less than a step behind him.
Onto the homestretch, that finish line seeming so close he could touch it. Serrano glided past, about to claim the victory. Bertone was right there, his shoulder bumping Manny’s. Who else was coming? It didn’t matter.
Manny made a final surge and stayed even with Bertone for a few strides, then suddenly pulled ahead. Manny was so close to Serrano that he could have grabbed his jersey, but not close enough to get by. They reached the finish line. Manny was second. He’d nearly done it. He’d nearly won the title.
His first thoughts were confused as he gulped for air. How should he feel? He’d come so close, but he’d lost. Should he be elated or frustrated or both?
His second thoughts were better, as his teammates, his family, and his coach descended on him. Dad grabbed him and pulled him close, and Coach Alvaro rubbed his head.
“Awesome job,” Calvin said. “2:14!”
“Gutsy race, Manny,” said Sherry.
Anthony smacked him on the shoulder. “You took it to ’em.”
Serrano came over and they shook hands firmly, then hugged. “It doesn’t end here,” Serrano whispered. He pointed at the Olympic flag waving high above the track. “We’ll be seeing each other, Manuel. We’ll be pushing each other to the limit.”
Manny grinned. Serrano was right. He’d had a great season, but this was only the start. There were lots of fast races to come.
He looked around the arena. The spectators were on their feet again as older runners raced around the track, locked in a scorching battle for the lead. All around him, sprinters were warming up for the 200-meter races. Coaches were yelling encouragement. A high jumper was soaring over the bar.
Manny had no trouble sorting out his thoughts just then, no trouble identifying his emotions.
He was proud. He was satisfied. He was joyful.
And above all, Manny was a runner.
LOOK FOR WINNING SEASON #4:
DOUBLE FAKE
COMING SOON!
The bell sounded and Manny caught the shout of the timer: 1:41. He was alone out in front, but he could feel the track shaking behind him. The speedsters were in pursuit. That 30-second last lap Serrano had imagined just might come true after all.
His arms and legs were aching, but that didn’t matter at all. Every breath was labored. He moved out slightly from the rail, wanting to make those chasing him work even harder by forcing them to the second lane. He could hear them coming. He could almost feel their breaths.
Down the backstretch, still in the lead. The spectators were all standing now, all urging on their favorites. Manny wouldn’t look back. All of his focus was ahead of him.
He raced into the last turn and there was Serrano, his arms swinging as high as his chin as he pumped and churned and pulled even. Manny kept pace. He knew at least two others were less than a step behind him.
Onto the homestretch, that finish line seeming so close he could touch it. Serrano glided past, about to claim the victory. Bertone was right there, his shoulder bumping Manny’s. Who else was coming? It didn’t matter.
Manny made a final surge and stayed even with Bertone for a few strides, then suddenly pulled ahead. Manny was so close to Serrano that he could have grabbed his jersey, but not close enough to get by. They reached the finish line. Manny was second. He’d nearly done it. He’d nearly won the title.
His first thoughts were confused as he gulped for air. How should he feel? He’d come so close, but he’d lost. Should he be elated or frustrated or both?
His second thoughts were better, as his teammates, his family, and his coach descended on him. Dad grabbed him and pulled him close, and Coach Alvaro rubbed his head.
“Awesome job,” Calvin said. “2:14!”
“Gutsy race, Manny,” said Sherry.
Anthony smacked him on the shoulder. “You took it to ’em.”
Serrano came over and they shook hands firmly, then hugged. “It doesn’t end here,” Serrano whispered. He pointed at the Olympic flag waving high above the track. “We’ll be seeing each other, Manuel. We’ll be pushing each other to the limit.”
Manny grinned. Serrano was right. He’d had a great season, but this was only the start. There were lots of fast races to come.
He looked around the arena. The spectators were on their feet again as older runners raced around the track, locked in a scorching battle for the lead. All around him, sprinters were warming up for the 200-meter races. Coaches were yelling encouragement. A high jumper was soaring over the bar.
Manny had no trouble sorting out his thoughts just then, no trouble identifying his emotions.
He was proud. He was satisfied. He was joyful.
And above all, Manny was a runner.
LOOK FOR WINNING SEASON #4:
DOUBLE FAKE
COMING SOON!
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