Round and round the track they went, their pace just as grueling as before, Gerath's powerful limbs still pumping. I wondered how he could stand the heat, the sun, the exhaustion after the other races he had already run. The earth beneath them greedily accepted the flecks of sweat that flew from the runners, making me think of the possibility of dehydration. Yet still they ran...
Then...
The girl gradually drew ahead a lap, then two, only to land oddly on one foot and twist to the ground with a harsh cry. Aghast, I clenched my fists, waiting for someone to assist her.
People looked on, but not one ducked under the rope to help her off the track. Even the two other runners, their concentration totally on something else, ignored the girl. She was moaning softly. When I could stand it no longer, I ducked under the rope and hauled her to the side off of the track. She looked up at me with dazed eyes and groaned, "Water..."
"No, not yet," I said. "Catch your breath first." She closed her eyes and let the dry, hacking heaves empty themselves from her body.
"How is your ankle?" I carefully poked it and she said calmly, "It hurts, but only slightly. I will be alright if I stand and walk on it a little, I think." "Oh, Harni..." The fat man was leaning down, looking at his daughter, his manner more condescending than concerned. "You lost..."
"I'm sorry, Father.. Please don't blame me for it, I am only human.." Harni struggled to stand. She could not do it on her own but, using me as a crutch, she limped around for a minute or two. I led her to an empty bench, entirely uncaring about the results of the race. "You rest here, and I'll get you some water, alright?"
She shook her head. "Father will do that. You go watch the rest of the race. You deserve to see what happens - " She stopped talking and sat there.
Helplessly, I drifted away from her and returned to watch the race, guilt weighing down my feet. I sat down, knowing it would be a while.
Both men showed no signs of flagging. Their rhythm was almost exactly the same, twin bullets from the same gun, each one holding the other accountable to the next stride. Whether they slowed or sped up, they did it together. They seemed to be performing some ancient never-ending dance.
There was soon a slow change in Gerath's face and way of running. I could see, even from an amateur's point of view, that he was beginning to work for every stride.
I did not want to know how many laps they had finished. It began to look inevitable that there would be a tie, until Gerath's feet bounded a millisecond too late, and he inexorably drifted away from the other man. I was on my feet along with the rest of the crowd cheering with all my might, yelling for him not to give up.
But still the runner pulled away from Gerath, by a half of a lap, then a whole one, passing him up. I could not bear to watch Gerath's straining, red face any longer, but still I looked on, fascinated at the struggle the faltering man gave.
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