Marathon Loop

MARATHON LOOP

i Marathon

For several days now the fields had been green and yellow. They were merely fallow, not sown with any seeds, the grass growing well outside the town. The runners were the usual crop in vari-coloured gear; and they stood with great effort, with an urge to move, without smiling. Lacking the usual energy of weekend runners or the resolve of staunch club supporters, Hector paused whilst others chatted or tried to read the countryside signs for weather changes in case they got drenched. You could see the amateurs struggling on steeper inclines than would have troubled the ‘coached’ variety of sports people who were full of enthusiasm, ready to take on the hills; mostly running side-by-side, in pairs here and there, with the remaining stragglers who imbued some deficiency in the lineup by resorting to imitations of runners who were born with lithe limbs.

Those who wore identical shirts and shorts with numbers on the back were swapping tips...if it’s in the way… go around it. The pack was the mid-section of the runners comprising those who liked to be known by its storming pace close behind the leaders – weekend warriors - usually men with beards and ladies with ponytails – speaking urgently of who was who and some bragging of their previous exploits. It was the case that the more athletic you were the more likely women were to gather round you and for the women the choicest men, the ablest, where their focus.

As the morning sun stretched its golden fingers warming the air in the process, anticipation buzzed in the air. The Wayfarer's Marathon was about to commence, and the local dignitary, Mayor Winston, stood at the starting line, his gun ready.

With a megaphone in the other hand, Mayor Winston addressed the crowd of runners. "Ladies and gentlemen, to everyone of you, I say every step is a stride toward fairness, perseverance and camaraderie, let us not forget that. It's about crossing the finish line, yes, but it's also about running with purpose, running with passion, and running for those who cannot run for themselves." Mayor Winston, born and raised in the vibrant city of Toronto, was always driven by a sense of duty and a passion for making a difference in his community. His journey from the corporate world to civic leadership was a testament to his unwavering commitment to serving others.

"Speaking of purpose, I must commend our very own Hector, even if I'm not allowed to mention his occupation. We are lucky to have him among us, setting an example of dedication and excellence. Even in his spare time, he joins us here, reminding us that the pride and unity of this community comes first. And let us not forget the lessons of history," he continued with conviction. "Just as Roger Bannister defied the odds and shattered the four-minute mile barrier, so too shall each of you push your limits. For in the end, it is not the titles we earn or the records we break that define us, but the courage to overcome the obstacles."

With a final flourish, Mayor Winston raised the starter gun high above his head. "So, let the Wayfarer's Marathon begin! Run with your shoes smacking the road hard, run for those in need, and may fair play guide each and every stride!"

With a resounding bang, the race commenced, the echoes of Mayor Winston's words carrying the runners forward.

Word went round that the town beyond the five bar gate had a pub with a sign saying, ‘if you have a problem coming in, don’t.’Against the distant trees a couple of horses played. They looked as if they’d loosen the rocks with the down beat of their hooves as they approached. There’d been no rain that week, even so, that meant a detour, which was advisable if objections on health and safety were to be anticipated.

The summit was to be reached by a combination of aggression and adrenaline, a steep hill in the middle of the 28.2 mile course and the endurance runners would not be in a fit state once they’d finished except that the sense of euphoria kept them at it to return again. Some might do a night on the town before returning home.

Some brambles and cherry laurel interspersed with wild nettles broke in front of them which revealed the dried-out track ahead. The last of the runnners had just crossed the field on the way to the early water station when Hector could feel all his blood pumping, a sign that he needed to calm down and breathe and also to check his splits, because time lost was time wasted and he knew his limits. Towards this stage he ran among the tail-enders.

Still there was no end in sight. Lights in the houses were now going on. There were one or two cars - still too few he thought for a Saturday - and the murmur of voices, subdued now to which he was mostly oblivious. Soon he saw the taxi and not wishing to break his form he carried on running. Then it began to rain heavily as a sign about the marathon appeared on a lamp-post. The taxi driver asked him, 'Hey pal, need a lift?' It had not occurred to him but he decided there and then that he would cheat. Hector accepted got in and spread his legs on the back seat to take a nap. The intense comfort he felt over-rid his guilt as ‘where to guv?’ asked the taxi driver.

ii Taxi driver

The last of the shoppers had just crossed the park on their way to the local department store as those employees appeared outside to welcome them in. Hector directed the taxi driver to his friends’ house. As the runners approached the illustrious store, Hector’s gaze was immediately captured by the spectacle unfolding in the window display. An elegant arrangement greeted his eyes.

Hector had found this store with the intention of buying a drink as a present for his friends and then getting another taxi to their house. Standing within the confines of the window display were the mannequins, each one arranged in an assertive posture. They were dressed in ensembles that told of the fickleness of fashion. He observed that there were hippies in the area and some had money and a few would be inside browsing and perhaps a fraction of those buying the comfortable up-to-date smart trainers which were fast sellers.

With a sense of anticipation, Hector stepped inside, ready to immerse himself in the splendor of the store’s plush carpet and ultra-clean glass.

The store manager was indeed in a black outfit: it included a tie which would not knowingly make his customers look dowdy.

The staff of the department store were thinly scattered and seemed anxious to project their concern for the customers. He noticed that some ruling by management had decreed that they all dress uniformly, the men in white polo shirts and the women in black ones. He approached one of them to ask for Cartouche, a brand of wine he knew, for his friends.

One had noticed him and he felt that the man looked as if he was in a dream, or he had evaded a race.

He approached the manager. “Excuse me, sir. I have a few questions. Do you sell Cartouche here on the shop floor?”

The manager looked up from his i-phone. “Ah, yes, my colleague there has a fine bottle of it. He’s in the winery department. Quite a diligent young man, I must say.”

“Excellent,” said Hector.” And where is that? I need to speak with him regarding a gift.”

The assistant pushed his i-phone into a hidden fold in the jacket and declared, “Well, I appreciate your selection, but I’m afraid we only have a size hard to carry, you understand.”

Hector lowered his voice. “Sir, this is an important friend. I believe there’s something you’re not telling me.”

“Is that an accusation?” There was no telling some customers’ preferences.

“ You’re treading on thin ice.” The manager walked in on the conversation. My son is a hardworking employee, and I won’t have you disrupting his workday. In fact, I think it’s time we took this conversation elsewhere.”

The manager spoke to a third person who’d come within hearing distance, “Please escort our friend to the “special room” in the back. You know the one—the one with the velvet curtains and the dim lighting.”

His experience was tripping him out. “Is nobody going to say it?”

The interrogation was set in a grand, ornate room. He found himself facing intense questioning.

The ornate room soared overhead, its grandeur imposing itself upon HECTOR. As he stood beneath its towering architecture, like an Ernst Fuchs ceiling, he grimaced at the discomfort of being in his running gear which he’d worn all the while.

He was in a daunting situation facing an inscrutable inquisitor. He recalled the conversation with a senior executive of the Time Institute whose idea was to install television news screens in the atrium like those designs which swirled in the room.

The way the interrogator's presence loomed over him contrasted with the straightforward and unambiguous nature of his attraction for Gisele, his girlfriend. By highlighting the stark difference an increased sense of intimidation pervaded him.

He sensed a subtle shift in the interrogator's tactics, a strategic maneuver aimed at exploiting his empathetic nature. His choice of running attire, seemed to have provoked her intentions.

“Liar!” he said and spun the chair on one leg so that he crashed into the interrogator, ripping the knife off her, killing her and exiting the room. He hailed another taxi.

iii

Pub

 ‘Where to guv?’ asked the taxi driver, as the previous taxi driver had.

“9 Menlove Avenue,” replied Hector remembering the two friends of his. The taxi seemed to be moving very slowly as the taxi driver changed gears excessively, turning here and there and then rounding a roundabout with so much effort that he kept falling off his seat. He decided to skip the Cartouche wine after all. He needed a drink, stepped out and walked into a pub.

The landlord was thin and wore a double-breasted waistcoat to give his chest volume and had not shaved for about a year as estimated by the beard’s longest point which was mid chest level. His wife was a very attractive raven-haired serious woman. She wore the same flower print dress, was the same woman who’d pointed down the road before, and represented herself as a lover of the arts; especially pictorial arts.

Jane and her partner often spent their evenings discussing the latest exhibits at the local gallery. At the time there were exhibitions by Claes Oldenburg which they’d attended. The landlord was also a fan of progressive music and played it until late. The combined musical effects and the slide show of festivals on the white wall always had a therapeutic effect and the landlord’s wit as he tossed off some joke entertained them all. In the refuge of their living room. Robert, Jane and Hector were sitting around a coffee table filled with snacks and drinks. The lights were dim, and a projector was set up, displaying slides of their Nazca Peruvian holiday.

Robert was slightly tipsy, with a glass of wine in his hand, ‘Hector, you see this slide here? This is from our trip to Nazca, Peru. The study of ancient civilizations, like the Nazca, is so crucial to understanding how human societies develop.’

Jane sipped on a cocktail, ‘Oh yes, the Nazca culture has really piqued the interest of so many archaeologists and historians. Just look at those geoglyphs and there – exquisite textiles! They’ve provided insights into ancient society.

Hector smiled, leaning forward, ‘Fascinating. Tell me more about these textiles.’

Robert refilled his glass with, ‘Agriculture was central to their society. The National Museum of Geology has shown how these textiles weren't just decorative. They were rich in knowledge.’

Hector leaned back in the Freudian couch. He said, ‘It sounds like they had a sophisticated social structure.’

Robert looked like he had been upended by an upstart but hid his expression in the shadows. “Indeed!” he said, ‘The Nazca civilization stretched across a vast region, around 250 miles. Their extensive reach is evident in the intricate geoglyphs we saw, the Nazca lines.’

Jane drank some more with, “Researchers think these geoglyphs might have been part of pilgrimage routes, guiding people to specific destinations.”

She wondered what Robert was drinking, “Clues to their rituals and social gatherings are all in there.”

Hector called it “a highly organized society.”

Robert leaned forward: “Definitely. My boy. Strategically placed, their alignment and design suggest advanced knowledge of engineering and astronomy.”

The three clinked their glasses as the room filled with a sense of camaraderie.

They laughed and Jane said, ‘You’re imagining things,’ as Robert almost got going on aliens.

“There’s been some misunderstanding, which is why we had to pull you out of the race.” He was high, now ans spoke almost omnisciently.

“Will you stay to dinner?”

“ Well, we certainly know how to make holiday memories, don't we?” Jane said as she moved toward the kitchen.

“So, who was John Ruskin?”(their child's first two names) he asked.

“The teacher of the arts and crafts movement,” she said catching his face looking at her with lust.

It was the most satisfying night of his life. By now Hector didn’t care that he’d decided to be a lover of this fine woman – knowing that her partner’s one weakness was his hobby - photography, and he had little else of interest outside amusing people with slideshows on the wall in their living room.

“ That sounds perfect. Thank you for cooking.”

They gathered around the table, the room illuminated by the glow of the wall projector.

“You see,” Jane said, “ Three years ago when we went to Peru, Nazca actually, we noticed this …sense of …contact.”

They dug into their meal, savoring the flavors of the eggs and burgers paired with a refreshing flagon of cider.

Mungo Jerry was performing their iconic song “In the Summertime” as a soundtrack to the landlord’s slides, as he tied balloons to his rucksack and scouted the site with his camera ready.

The landlord showed slide after slide. The slide show continued for another hour after dinner.

"Jane, may I steal a moment of your time?" Hector's voice was smooth, his demeanor charming as he extended a hand in greeting.

Jane arched an eyebrow in mild curiosity. "Of course, Hector. What can I do for you?"

Hector flashed her a disarming smile, almost in spite of himself, feeling that nothing was likely to go wrong as he said, "I couldn't help but notice your radiant presence. At this point I would like to ask you a question that has been plaguing me.’

He helped himself to the proffered coffee, which he drank noisily. Then she resumed her sitting position with her arms clasped as she held the child. The landlord was pleased that his wife was sociable.

“Let’s get you back into that marathon race.” Jane spoke with urgency. They bundled him into a car and put him on a street corner where a number of runners appeared, having bandaged his wounded arm, which all the adrenaline had made unapparent. He was awarded the running cup. Now for a number of the runners the fact that he was so fresh looked suspicious. After a few minutes with them their lead runner said, ‘We were on the track the whole time.’

‘We wished to end this race fair and square,’ said one.

‘You didn’t,’ said Hector.

‘Why not?’ asked the leader.

‘You chose to give up, had no stamina,’ he commented.

One of the disappointed age cohort runners was female. The lack of a ponytail had fooled him, but she was attractive nevertheless. She giggled to her friends saying,

“‘If he wants to be my boyfriend, I might tear him apart, but otherwise we'd better leave him alone,” and looked nonplussed.

This did not look extraordinary as Hector was easily the best runner of the group. Thinking back to his excellent time with the woman and her household he was torn between the thought of eating well and having sex as his mind framed it.

Narrowly 10 miles from home when they all hit the wall he had missed out on 'cornrows' as he'd dubbed his admirer who was almost down to walking pace at the finish. His feeling of aliveness had reached its ebb as Hector began to feel pain even at the tips of his fingers and eventually his feet became numb.

It was then that would have been the easiest for him to stay in the middle of the pack.

‘Supposing we'd ended the race then?’ said the woman.

‘And do what?’ he asked, open-endedly

‘You could have had sex with me,’ she answered cheekily.

The others began to talk about how he’d come from nowhere and appeared not to be as tired as they, that the leader thought that the woman was in love with him, and how they would just put this down to one more race.

Hector was rather embarrassed that they would be coming to ask him this before most of the runners had finished. Then one of the runners produced a snack bar and they split it in four and gave a piece to Hector, who accepted the gift in order not to appear rude. They all ran down the road laughing.

He let go of the fleeting fantasies that had momentarily captivated his mind, recognizing them for what they were—mere distractions from the true essence of his journey.

Hector felt a sense of kinship wash over him. For in the end, it wasn't about the destination, but the journey itself—the unyielding pursuit of life in its fullness.