Younger, Faster, and Hungrier

Where did I go wrong?

It’s the question Luthor Sterling found himself asking as he stood on the winner’s podium at the Ultimate Summer Triathlon in Huntington Beach…in second place.

It felt like a million spotlights dawned on him as a smiling judge approached him, carrying a shiny medal.

Just good enough to avoid coming in last, but failing to reach the first-place spot. And that word stood out to him the most: failing.

“Congratulations, Mr. Sterling,” he said, handing Luthor the medal. “You were amazing out there!“

Luthor tightened his lips in embarrassment, his feet throbbing, arms aching, and dripping wet. He gently took the medal out of the judge’s hands and read the engraving.

The Ultimate Summer Triathlon 2026

Second Place

Just good enough to avoid coming in last, but failing to reach the first-place spot. And that word stood out to him the most: failing. He shoved it to his side, not even wanting to look at it anymore.

The judge reached out for a handshake, but Luthor looked away.

Did he really think Luthor would reciprocate his condescending gesture?

The judge quickly put his hand to his side, understanding that maybe Luthor wasn’t the social type.

“Again. Congratulations, Mr. Sterling,” he awkwardly mumbled with a smile as he stepped away, into the waves of people surrounding the podium.

Luthor looked to his left…the third-place spot.

Standing on it was a man in his 30s, proudly wearing his medal and biting the edge of it. Multiple family members were gathering around him, snapping photos and congratulating him.

This isn’t the Olympics, Luthor thought to himself. It’s a cheap piece of metal worth 10 bucks from Amazon.

Then, he turned to his right. The first-place winner was all smiles, holding up a medium-sized shiny trophy. She was a young woman in her early 20s, toned and beautiful.

A true athlete.

She was helped down from the podium, immediately surrounded by photographers and family members.

“Congratulations, Ms. Cross!” They all shouted, shoving their microphones and cameras in her face.

A tight ball of vomit began to form in the back of Luthor’s throat, watching the commotion a few feet from beside him. But he pushed it down. The last thing he wanted was to be embarrassed any further.

The judge from earlier makes his way beside the podium, microphone in hand. He taps it, a slight feedback echoing across the park.

He smiles widely, waving to the podium. “Ladies and gentlemen, let’s give a hand for our winners!”

The sea of spectators claps and cheers, the occasional flash of a camera reaching Luthor’s eyes.

A few minutes after the crowd had scattered their own separate ways, Luthor found his wife, Stella, anxiously waiting for him in the park’s lot, a camera in hand.

Her eyes grew wide at the sight of him, instantly wrapping her arms around his waist and planting kisses on his cold cheek.

“Oh my goodness, I’m so proud of you! I tried to get a picture of you, but there were just too many people,” she exclaimed, “So, I figured I’d wait for you here and we can take our own pictures.”

Luthor let out a forced chuckle.

Then, she realized he wasn’t wearing his medal. “Where is it?”

Luthor sighed, taking the medal out where it had been stuffed into his tight pocket.

“Oh, come on! Put it on. I wanna see it!” She says, getting her camera ready.

Luthor looked up at the sky, where the setting sun was barely meeting the edge of the horizon. He cleared his throat, “The sun’s going down. You won’t be able to see me in your photo.”

“Ah, come on. Here,” Stella argued, grabbing the medal and hurriedly placing it on Luthor’s neck. “It’ll be quick.”

“But the sun—”

“There’s still plenty of light, Luthor!”

Luthor snaps the medal off his neck. “I don’t wanna take a damn photo! Let’s just get in the car and go.”

Stella took a deep breath.

“Luthor, you can raise your voice at me like a child all you want,” Stella declared, trying to hide her disappointment. “But you are going to take a photo.”

Luthor swung the medal as if it were some silly lanyard you’d use to put your keys in the mailbox. “Fine.”

He grabbed the medal, holding it up with a weak smile curled on his lip.

Stella peered around from behind the camera and, through her teeth, said, “Put it on.”

Luthor sighed as he hurriedly fixed the ribbon using the velcro strips at each end. After that, he carefully placed the medal around his neck.

SNAP!

After snapping a quick photo and enduring a quiet drive back home, Luthor sat on his bed and examined his legs closely. They were trembling, raw from hours of punishment, muscles carved from years of training. And yet all he could see was weakness.

Stella strolled into the room, gently placing a cup of hot tea on his nightstand.

Luthor glances up from his leg, grabbing the tea and resuming his examination.

“I’m so proud of you, Thor,” Stella said, planting a kiss on his crown of brown curls.

“And look,” she lifts her phone for Luthor to see, “Dr. Marlon says he’s glad you are back on your feet.”

There was a moment of silence before Luthor spoke again. “I think I need to go see him again.”

Stella put her phone down, her brows furrowing in concern. "Why?”

She puts a hand on Luthor’s knee, “Do they hurt?”

Luthor purses his lips. “No.”

“Numb?”

“No?”

“Then, what is it?”

Luthor’s breathing picked up as he stared at his aching legs. “I don’t know.”

But he did know. He knew exactly what was wrong. These legs of his, no matter how hard he trained, how hard he pushed, were no longer the same. As they were in his prime before the pointless accident that left him rotting in a hospital bed for months. The constant cloud of despair and confusion hovered over his head, questioning if he would ever walk again.

Stella’s hand remained on his knee, concerned. Luthor met her reassuring gaze, her eyes warm and full of love.

Or pity…

But he can’t stay mad at her. Not after what they’ve been through together.

He put his hand over hers, interlocking their fingers. He longed to understand her better, wishing he could see what was really going on in her mind. Did she genuinely believe in him, or was it all just an act?

A perfect façade?

A beautiful dream that seemed too good to be true?

That night, he set his alarm clock for 4 am, a fresh pair of clothes aside, and his best running shoes by the front door.

But sleep never came.

He tossed and turned, never able to find the comfort he desperately sought. Especially after the night before.

Luthor groaned in annoyance, sitting up.

Stella lay beside him, asleep and blissfully unaware of Luthor’s staring.

He observed the way her chest gently rose and fell as she drifted deeper and deeper to sleep.

Stella believed in him. But deep down, he knew belief wasn’t enough. Nobody ever won anything by simply believing.

Training and preparation got you there. But even then, sometimes it still wasn’t enough.

He swung his legs off the bed and sat in the quiet, staring at the faint outline of his running shoes by the door. It was almost as if they were daring Luthor to go out for a training run.

And he accepted the dare. Every morning. Every night. Luthor set out to run the exact path he had competed in that day.

Timing himself. Further, faster, and better.

Just a few weeks before the Ultimate Fall Triathlon, Luthor ran out into the cold night as he had done that morning, sheets of rain pouring down on him.

He pushed and pushed. His heartbeat pulsing through his legs. His hair sticking to his forehead. Clothes heavy with water.

The park entrance, serving as the finish line, was just ahead of him. His strides grew longer, sloppier, and chaotic, as he urgently tried to reach the end.

To the man he used to be.

Younger, faster, and hungrier.

And then his body gave up, collapsing just before the park entrance.

His muscles screamed at him to stop as he dug his nails into the earth, dragging his heavy body across that stupid finish line.

But then…

“Hey, you alright? Need a hand?”

Luthor’s head snapped up, his vision blurry. A young jogger hovered over him. The sight of him so healthy and breathing steadily crushed Luthor.

His question of concern cut through Luthor like a sword and straight into his heart. The tears came fast, spilling down Luthor’s cheeks before he could stop them.

And the worst part?

Luthor had nowhere to hide his embarrassment and shame.

He felt the urge to shrink away, to disappear, to hide from the undeniable evidence of his failures. But the rain continued to fall, unyielding, drenching him and offering no way out.

Finally, somewhere between the pain and the shame, he let himself cry.