Silent Running

David squeezed out the last blob of deep-heat onto his hands and rubbed it into the front of both  thighs. He did this to improve the blood circulation, but he also loved the pungent smell, that reminded him of Grandma, comforting somehow.  He flung the empty tube into the bushes and started to warm up, glancing at his  watch.   

        The journey over had been uneventful, save for a couple of patches of black ice and the absence of traffic lights at Rayners Hill. He liked the early morning races, particularly if there was a longish drive, giving him time to mull over any last minute tactics or weigh up the opposition.

        All around him the pine trees were encased in frosty overcoats, sparkling like chandeliers in the weak sunlight.  At the very top  of the canopy a light breeze had brushed away the ice, leaving a dark green head on milky-white shoulders. When the wind passed by, a skirt of ice crystals fell to the floor       

        He loved to run in a cold snap, when the air stung his legs and made his lungs burn, it was only then he felt truly alive. Quite often, in such conditions he experienced a wonderful state of euphoria, known to joggers and serious athletes as a 'runners high'.   

        This race was an important one to do well in,  as it acted as an eliminator \ qualifier for the forthcoming county trials. He couldn't afford to make any mistakes if he was finally going to  break into the big league. He jogged up and down, scanning the rest of the runners who were also warming up, and recognised a few old familiar faces. John Matthew's was easy to spot, David called him the "bounding banker'' as he always took such large springing steps. He never appeared in the same running kit more than once, choosing to dazzle the opposition with his latest lurid lycra ensemble. His success in racing was negligible, it wasn't so much the taking part for John more the dressing up. Mind you, anyone forced to wear drab  three piece suits six days a week  was entitled to let their hair down once in a while. 

        The ladies race was due to start any minute, and the dozen or so hopefuls jostled for position at the tape. Nearly all of them were sporting expensive compression suits, that looked as if they’d been applied with a sable brush. Among these assorted colours stood a tall, well built woman of about thirty, wearing enormous baggy shorts  and what looked like old rugby boots. Her bare legs were heavily muscled and brown like those of a small pony. The top half of her body was swathed in a faded white bed sheet, which she tucked under a broad leather belt. For all her apparent lack of femininity her face was by comparison well defined and broad, like a cats. Lapis-blue eyes stared straight ahead in deep concentration. The gun cracked, echoing around the woods, and the race was on.

        A crowd of colour swept past as the runners made their way to the first climb, about two hundred yards away. At the back of the group, the mysterious booted lady lumbered on  with an awkward rolling stride. Ahead, the leaders were encountering some difficulty on the hill. The frozen ground was thawing quickly, and as the majority of runners were wearing  trainers they slipped this way and that in an effort to find a firm footing. By stark contrast, the big tail-ender snowploughed her way through the logjam of scrambling bodies, digging into the soft earth like a mountaineer. She'd already made up seven places, before  disappearing over the crest of the hill.

        She may look like a running refugee , thought David, but she definitely has guts. 

         The men's race was announced over the tannoy, so he stuffed his number down his shorts and jogged over to the tented assembly point. The sunshine was quite strong now and small veins of water dripped from the large awning. He fumbled with the tiny safety pins that secured his race number,  blowing on both hands to improve his circulation. Hadn't they heard of Velcro, he thought, as he stabbed first his finger and then his stomach. Finally, with the number 13 pinned awkwardly to his chest, he joined the rest of them at the start.

        The gun cracked for the second time, sending a small ring of blue smoke into the air. It took him by surprise, and the rest of the starters had gone five metres before he realised that meant him as well. At the first hill he remembered  the firmest footing was to be found on the left where the lower branches cast their shadows. Most of the leading group made for the middle of the track but were soon sent careering down the bank as they too succumbed to the thick mud. David took full advantage of their mistakes and forged ahead to take first position. This was new unexplored territory for him, only a few hundred yards into the race and he was in first place.

        The narrow path snaked away into the thicket, marked only with a few red and white streamers that were tied at indeterminate intervals. Keep the advantage, he thought, glancing back to see how close the chasing group were. To his astonishment they were nowhere in sight, so he swallowed hard and forged onward. The hill had had more of an effect on the runners than he could possibly imagine. Not only had they failed to reach the top, but any attempts to find an easier route were hampered by the thick impenetrable pines on either side. By the time they discovered David's secret route he was five hundred yards ahead.

        As he approached the first Marshall at the three kilometre point the thought dawned on him that not only had he created a commanding lead but he may be able to win his first race. The sunlight strobed through the pine trees and he wondered if any runners had ever suffered epileptic fits.   

        The track tapered with each stride, forcing him to adopt a running style like an eggbeater. There were also hidden dips and hollows, where old trees had been uprooted,  which demanded intense concentration. He tried to imagine running  through the woods near his home after a Friday night liver-meeting with the lads. The alcohol always relaxed him, producing a sort of high speed stagger, but he never fell over.  

        By keeping his eyes fixed on the ground  he failed to notice a lone Marshall peeing against a nearby tree. Startled by a snap of bracken,  the official looked over his shoulder, but didn't see him, resuming the task of initialing the frozen tree stump with warm yellow ink.

        After  a couple of minutes he reached a fork in the track. He looked around anxiously for a day glow waistcoat or red ribbon, there was nothing. 'Jesus, he thought, where are all the bloody Marshall's ?’ He jogged on the spot, shaking the stiffness out of his arms as clouds of body steam swirled about him. He didn't have a clue what to do next. The following group were nowhere to be seen which meant one of two things, either they were still a long way back, or they were lost as well. He favoured the latter. 

        The vegetation was so thick and dense that what little sunlight made it through was squeezed back into the sky by the tightly packed trees. This was the wooded version of the deep-sea, with it's bizarre looking creatures and rank smells. Even the frost dared not enter. The water, (if it was water at all) stained the floor in rusty pools, as though aged cars had crawled there to die.

        Just then, he heard a loud creaking noise, like a giant door opening  followed by a loud splash. Looking behind him he could see a figure standing  knee deep in one of the orange ponds. It waded through the stuff and sloshed over to where David was standing. As it moved closer he recognised it to be the female Goliath he had seen earlier.

        ''Are you lost ?" he said, raising both eyebrows and shrugging slightly.

        She nodded, and began scooping off stinking sludge from her boots with the side of her hand.

        ''Do you think they'll send out a search party for us both?'' he asked, with a weak smile,  She remained silent and continued to rid herself of the swamp . He was about to repeat the sentence when she bent over and he saw a small pink plastic blob lodged in her left ear. After she’d stood up and was facing him he spoke slowly and clearly in that wide mouthed condescending tone usually reserved for senile old people and two year olds'.

        "T - h - a - t - s   r - i - g - h - t," she replied, in an even slower more deliberate manner, grinning at the same time.

        "I  can lip read you know, just don't speak too quickly. Can you sign?'

        David shook his head. ''No, but I can read subtitles"  

        The woman nodded  and smiled. "I was so far in front I didn't see any Marshall's at that last checkpoint, did you?"

        "None at all, not even a bit of tape or an arrow. The bloody organisation is terrible. The one time I'm in the lead and I get lost". He looked at his stopwatch, which was still relentlessly grinding out the seconds. By my reckoning both races will have finished, the question is will anyone actually miss us both. They wont miss me, I came on my own, how about you?"

        "No one. I gave my fan club the day off. They needed the rest."

        Between them they decided that the best plan was to try and retrace their steps. As the woman's footprints were easier to follow, (for reasons that did not require explanation) they began to backtrack. She insisted on taking point  on account of her 'far superior eyesight', which she quickly demonstrated to avoid argument.

        "Do you see that tree creeper on the crooked branch up ahead"? David squinted, admitting  he could barely discern the branch let alone the bird.

        ''Ok , I give in, you lead,"

        It was not difficult to see the route taken. Having ignored all conventions like trails and tracks, she had opted for the rampaging   Elephant  approach.  This consisted of bulldozing through any obstacle smaller than a tree. David half expected to meet a gaggle of ramblers coming the other way, thinking they had discovered a new route through the forest.

        "Hey! " screamed the woman, at the top of her voice. Through the tangle of trees and vines was a small figure winding day glow tape onto a twig. The person, clad in a  voluminous khaki parka looked round briefly before resuming his task

        "Hey!" she screamed again, only this time the pitch was much higher like that of a Regimental Sergeant Major.

        The winder stopped winding and pulled down the fur lined  hood to get a better look.

        "Over here", screeched the woman, frantically waving her arms. It was only then that the Marshall locked on to her,

        "What's the matter, are you lost?''

        At this point both David and the lady looked at each other and, unable to control themselves any longer, started to laugh. The Marshall furrowed his brow and spoke again.

        "What's so funny, care to let me in on the joke?"

        David  was the first to regain his composure and asked if the race had finished. Apparently, it was declared void because some of the runners had over anticipated the starters gun.  The appalling race conditions and poor light hadn’t helped much either.  A re-run was organised for next weekend.

        'After all that effort,' thought David. He repeated this information to Sarah who looked as dismayed as he did.  Trailing after the Marshall, she turned to David saying.

        "I can't make it next week, I'm off to America on business, how about you?''

        "Me neither, I've got to take the car in for a service. It looks like our day of glory will have to be postponed - for now.”