Free Race Across the Sky by Derek Sherman

today.”
    â€œIt’s an engineered stew,” Mack explained from across the circle, “for people who run thirty miles a day. You don’t need any more.”
    â€œCool,” he said, sitting back down.
    â€œGood deal.”
    When everyone finished, Shane spotted a bookshelf by a closed door near the stairs and went to it. It was filled with some well-thumbed books about meditation, vegan diets, reiki. And numerous copies of
You Can Run 100 Miles!
    Shane took a copy; his left knee cracked worrisomely as he shifted his weight. The back cover was a shot of a much younger Mack, smiling triumphantly against a mountain background, wearing yellow running shorts. His wrinkles were shallower, and his skin looked better. His eyes were just as mesmerizing. Under the photograph Shane read, “Ultrarunning is the sport for our times. Now Ultrarunning’s premier trainer shares his methods for taking your body—and your life—past all limits.”
    He thumbed through the book with a grin.
    â€œPrefer chick lit?” Mack asked jauntily from just behind him.
    There was an awkward silence, not helped by Shane’s near complete mental and physical depletion.
    â€œIt’s amazing”—Shane’s face spread into his most salesy smile—“what you do with people.”
    â€œShit.” Mack pushed a hand through his thick black hair. “It’s amazing what
you
do. Selling biotechnology. Tell me, how does it work?”
    â€œBasically, we help the body heal itself.”
    â€œHow do you do that?”
    â€œInstead of adding man-made chemicals, we use proteins that our bodies already make to cause a reaction it already knows how to. Just hasn’t been doing.”
    Mack pointed excitedly, his finger barely missing Shane’s chest. “See? That’s exactly what
we
do. We help the body heal itself and do things it already knows how to, with a substance it already makes. You call it proteins. I call it kinetic energy. We believe in the same things.”
    â€œYou think so?”
    Mack raised his bearded chin. “You guys make a cure for the cold yet?”
    â€œNope.” Shane replaced the book.
    â€œWe do. No one here’s needed antibiotics for years.”
    â€œBut our patients are free to leave and visit their families.”
    Mack locked eyes with him, nodding. So, here it was.
    â€œCaleb has a job up in Boulder. If he wanted to leave, he’d hop a cab to the airport. He’s living here because he wants to.”
    â€œHe thinks he wants to. You have him running all day, sleeping four hours a night, eating twice a day. That’s not a recipe for clear thinking.”
    Mack smiled, much more pleasantly than Shane would have supposed. “You think if Caleb was eating steak and sleeping in, he’d wake up and think, what am I doing, I want to be a consultant, and move back to New York City?”
    Shane did not break eye contact; he felt like a fighter before the bell.
    But Mack’s face burst into a wild grin. “Come on, brother. He’s happy. He’s not sleep or food
deprived, he’s sleep and food
heightened.
His body is functioning in a near-perfect state, rid of the toxins of oversleeping, overeating, over-Tylenoling. You have to understand the compulsion of feeling this good. Of course he avoids anything that might try and pull him away. Once you get your body to this point, you don’t stop. Trips home, different food, people telling you you’re crazy, it’s not the way to stay in the flow. It’s great you’re here. He needs you to be supportive.”
    â€œOh, don’t worry about that.”
    Mack looked as if he was trying to determine the extent of Shane’s sarcasm. “It’s great to meet you, Shane. I’ll tap the keg in an hour.” He opened a door beside the bookshelf, and shut it behind him.
    Caleb means too much to these people, Shane realized, standing