chapter 1 continued

Fists punched the sky and throaty cheers erupted from the crowd as Troy crossed the start line to complete his second lap.

There were still five more circuits of the large field to go - making the race a total of 3500 meters - but Troy had built an early lead: Sarah crossed the line several seconds later, to calls of encouragement from the watching girls.

Troy felt good. This was where he belonged: out in front. Leading - and winning - came naturally to him, in all aspects of life. Although he sensed Sarah wasn't far behind, he felt sure her stamina would start to wane after another lap. Sure, she was in good shape - hot, even - but she was only a girl. Female athletes just couldn't compete with the guys.

On the sidelines, Joe was similarly smug. "Let's do this!" he whooped as Troy crossed the line.

The commentary team echoed the general feeling: "Two laps down," Rob began, "and Tammy, you gotta admit, things are looking good for Troy."

"They sure do Rob, but we've a way to go yet."

Ellie remained silent. Troy's early lead was a concern. But during the second lap, she'd come to realise something that perhaps Joe, the commentators, and most of the assembled supporters, had not: although Troy was in front, he wasn't *really* winning. Sarah's even strides and controlled breathing made it clear that she was matching her male competitor, just choosing to keep a few seconds behind.

Probably admiring his ass, thought Ellie with a smirk. She knew Sarah harboured a secret crush on Troy, despite his bravado, womanizing and bad habits.

***

A chill wind was still gusting over the field, but with the race approaching the half-way mark and neither runner looking troubled, it seemed to most watching that the two golden-haired adversaries would continue to the end at their current pace. The commentators turned to discussing the likelihood of a sprint finish, with Rob and Tammy opining on how this would suit each competitor.

One person, however, wasn't content with this. Having reached the 1500 meter mark, Troy figured it was time to intimidate the opposition, and engage in a little crowd-pleasing into the bargain. And so, entering the final straight of the third lap, he raised a hand in salute and winked confidently at the audience. Then, to a collective gasp, he swivelled a full 180 degrees and began to jog backwards, raising a cocky grin and blowing a kiss at Sarah before turning and kicking out his legs.

The cheerleaders whooped and shook their pompoms, and the spectating guys guffawed and roared, cheering their hero as he increased his lead. Rob laughed into his loudspeaker:

"Wow! And there he goes! What a showman!"

In truth, Troy had been just starting to feel the cool morning wind tickle his lungs. Which led him to the obvious conclusion that Sarah must be feeling the burn even more. Now was surely the time to demoralise her further.

And, sure enough, Troy noticed with satisfaction that his opponent didn't increase her speed. Stride by stride he began to pull away; feeling the adreneline pumping, he upped his pace further.

After half a minute or so, he glanced back. Sarah's leggy figure, encased in green lycra, was some way behind. Comfortable with the size of his lead, Troy slowly began to take a few inches of his stride, so that when he crossed the start line again - to more applause and cheers - he'd eased back to his original pace.

"Looks like Troy's got this one in the bag, Tammy." Rob's confidence oozed over the microphone.

"It sure does Rob," came the reply. "That's a lotta ground to make up!"

The crowd murmured its agreement. Everyone seemed to be of the opinion that Troy had won it.

Everyone, that was, except Ellie, who was carefully studying the race leader. She couldn't quite put her finger on it, and her mind might've been playing tricks, but there seemed to be something ever so slightly... different about Troy's gait since he broke away. She turned to look at Sarah. Despite the bigger gap, the blonde sports babe didn't seem particularly concerned: she just kept on with those same even, light-footed strides and straight posture. The only difference was that she was furth-

Stopping mid thought, Ellie blinked and for a few moments stared at the two runners, now on the far side of the track.

Her eyes widened.

Sarah was indeed some way behind. And yet, very slowly, almost imperceptably...

Ellie's heart started to beat a fraction faster. Sarah was catching up.

It wasn't long before others noticed. "And here comes Sarah, wow what an effort!" Tamara enthused. Her sentiments were seconded by a murmur of admiration arising from all corners at Sarah's effort. Even some of the guys even applauded.

"Indeed she does Tammy!" chuckled Rob. "She's got spunk that one: no-one can say she didn't give it her all."

But the thing was that Ellie, who had been watching closely, was still absolutely convinced that Sarah was running at near enough the same speed as she had been throughout the race.

Which left only one explanation.

Troy had not returned to his original place after all.

Troy had slowed down.

The male applause for Sarah's efforts dwindled as it became clear that, far from making a spirited last-hurrah, the busty runner was continuing to make up real ground, moving now to within six or seven strides of her opponent.

"Let's go Troy!" Joe clapped his hands, but for the first time Ellie detected the slightest quiver in his voice. And as Sarah continued, slowly but surely, to make up ground, the perceptive brunette realised what it was that had changed. Troy's head was thrown back slightly more than before, his chest pushing out. Also, in contrast to Sarah's featherlight strides - still gaining - Troy was really pounding the grass. To Ellie's amusement, the heavy footfalls added the tiniest bounce to Troy's slight curve of a belly.

But of everything she saw that fateful day, Ellie wished she could've framed the sheer confoundment that creased Troy's face (and Joe's) as - to a bluster of enthused commentary - Sarah breezed into the lead - ponytail bobbing, elegant legs moving swiftly and evenly.

*****

At this point, a professional runner would, in Troy's position, have reaced with caution. The smart move was to regroup, accept that he'd overpaced himself, and maintain a slower speed to reset his breathing and rebuild energy supplies. Then he'd be able to assess whether his opponent had started to flag and choose the right moment to make a move.

But Troy was too vain for any of that. There was simply no way he was going to let anyone - least of all a girl - overtake him! "The hell with this!" he thought, and taking a deep breath he kicked out his legs and upped his pace to regain the lead.

Pushed on by cheers and Rob's positive commentary, Troy pulled level with Sarah around 50 meters later. "I'll take her at the next corner," he said to himself confidently, stealing a glance at her pinched waist and impressively bouncing boobs.

But it was only a fleeting eyeful. For almost as soon as Troy drew level with Sarah, she turned to him and - to his amazement - puckered her lips before kicking out her own legs into lengthy strides and pumping forward.

Vaguely aware of the commentators' excited shouts, Troy sucked in a deep breath, lowered his head and sped up again. He'd caught her once, he'd do it again.

***

After a minute or so in which both competitors ran at their quicker pace, one thing became clear to all watching: despite his burst of energy, Troy wasn't catching up. If anything, he was slipping further behind.

"The hell's wrong with him?!" Joe groaned to no-one in particular.

Ellie didn't reply, but off the top of her head she could think of at least half a dozen things. Overconfidence being the main one, and underestimating his opponent. Not enough training - had he trained at all? Too much good food in the canteen and gallons of beer in bars and frat-party chugging contests. Late night burgers. Greasy weekend takeaways. When she thought about it, Ellie was amazed that Troy expected to be in any condition to run, let alone win - especially as he knew how hard Sarah had been training. Guess that's what happens with too much male bravado, she mused - and too much dinner.

"Well, it looks as though Troy's run into some real trouble here Rob. Any idea what might be the cause?" called Tammy, echoing Rob's question.

"I don't know Tam, but what a turnaround! Some sort of injury? A sudden bout of man-flu?.."

Tamara cut in: "Or - ahaha - maybe that European girlfriend has been feeding him too many Café liégeois?"

"I don't know what those are, Tammy, but I want one!"

As if all these factors were oppressing him at once, Troy was slowing even more. That second attempt to catch up, coming so soon after his first, had sucked everything out of him - most of all the wind. As he erratically gasped and gulped breaths of cold air, his pace lagged further. The gap was growing faster than the national budget deficit - and indeed, Troy looked to be weighed down by some sort of invisible debt, his pace declining to an awkward canter, and then to an embarrassingly slow wiggle that was barely more than a walk.

Puffing for breath, he stared forward in vain, looking for any signs that Sarah had overdone it, that she was starting to tire. For a second he swung an arm forward absurdly. But it was no good. He could only watch in dismay as his opponent's jiggling lycra-clad tush became a distant speck in the distance.

By the start of the sixth lap, Sarah had such a lead, and was running so smoothly, that it seemed inevitable she would overtake Troy for a second time before the race was over. And sure enough, half way through the penultimate lap, with Troy gulping air and flailing his arms at a useless waddle only a hundred yards in front of her (and almost a whole lap behind), Sarah, with those same easy strides and merrily bouncing bosoms, turned into the far corner of the field.

And fell to the ground.