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Tom Pepper
With the finish of the half marathon almost in sight, Tom Pepper mustered his fading reserves to sprint for the line. It wasn’t so much the time he was looking to beat but the strong woman in front of him. There were actually many hundreds between him and the winner of the race but he wanted, no needed, to beat that one woman whose back he had focused on for most of the race.
If he was honest, it wasn't her back he had been staring at but her bottom. For miles it had rocked and swayed with every footfall in a way that had mesmerised yet eased some of the pain of his tortured muscles. For that reason, he had been content to stay behind her for a large part of the race but now with the end in sight he simply had to get past her. Over the last couple of miles, he had drawn on all his strength to draw closer to her. She was a good runner, no doubt about that, but she was a woman... He couldn’t let her beat him, could he?
As he had drawn close, he had smiled or maybe he had grimaced. He had no longer been sure what he was capable of... The effort to catch up had bought an extra bonus. He had listened enthralled to her groaning gasps of effort and even though he knew it was nothing to do with sex he couldn’t help the images jumping into his mind of a warm yielding body. It had certainly not been a disadvantage to focus his mind on something other than the monotony and exhaustion that had been fast setting in.
He had no idea who she was, hadn’t even seen her face but her trim lycra-covered bum and shapely legs were all he needed to distract him. He fantasized as to what she might look like - probably got sexy blue eyes to go with the blonde hair tied back into a swinging ponytail. He wondered if maybe she looked like Sharon Stone... He imagined her long hair draped around her pouting face and he could almost feel the silky texture twined around his fingers.
He wondered if her breasts were as firm as her bum looked... He shook his sweat-soaked head and, with his mouth set in a grim line of determination, he cast aside the image of a sexy woman and focused on her as the competitor that she was.
He could see the finishing line now, not fifty yards away, the striped tape flashing as the sun’s rays caught its shiny surface. The urgent crowds roaring competitors on mingled in his ears with the frantic thudding of his own heart. He inched closer to the woman until he came alongside. They were almost there...
With a superhuman effort he lunged for the line. “Gotcha!” he hissed as, without so much as a glance at his exhausted opponent, he finished fractionally in front of her. He staggered forward, almost on his knees but grinned triumphantly at the cheering crowd and waved his arms in victory, his competitive streak nurtured and tiredness forgotten in the euphoria of success.
The race officials ushered him forward into the men’s finishing funnel and he forgot about the woman who had occupied much of his thoughts over the last hour.
Running suited Tom down to the tips of his toes even though he only raced a couple of times a year. He could prove himself in a race and measure himself against others similarly inclined and it did his ego a power of good if he performed well.
As he left the funnel shouts of ‘well done’ issued from the lively crowd who had enjoyed the small tussle and Tom basked in his moment of glory. Someone clapped him on the back but Tom had turned away, his exhilaration fading as his mind moved onto other things.
Like, where the hell was Angie? She was supposed to be there at the finish line with his bag and warm clothing.
He frowned and scanned the crowd searching the faces for his girl friend. She had promised to be here and as usual she was late... And she had missed seeing his small moment of triumph. Tom felt resentful. Damn her... If only she would put him first, just for once, instead of her bloody mates. Surely, that wasn’t too much to ask, was it?
He grimaced as he pulled his wet shirt away from his skin. God, he was starting to go cold already.
“Hi there!” A voice caught him unawares and he spun round. Puzzled, he stared at the woman.
“Err, do I know you?”
“Well, you’re the one who got me in the end, aren’t you?” She said, her voice barely hiding her disgust. Tom stared into the creased face of a middle aged woman.
“Huhh?”
“The race. You were the bloke who pipped me at the post.”
“I was?” This was not the woman he had passed, was it?
“You certainly did... No hard feelings, eh? I reckon I’ll get you next time.” She laughed.
Tom stared into a grinning face and saw it was riven with creases, the overall effect reminding him of a crumpled paper bag. Her yellowed teeth, thin lips and - now he looked closer – her grey rooted hair stunned him. Those blue eyes did not have the youthful clear-eyed look he had imagined either.
“Err... I...” He was covered in confusion as the images that he had built and stored in his mind came crashing down. He finally recognised the tight shorts and the tee shirt.
“Yes, sorry about that...” He recovered his composure and managed a half smile. “But, well... A race is a race...”
“Oh yes. Don’t you worry, my turn will come. Just wanted to congratulate you...” She held out a hand, magnanimous in defeat and Tom hesitated before grasping the woman’s age-worn fingers. A small flicker of guilt leapt into his mind as he recalled the churlish way he had behaved but he quickly swallowed it down as he watched the woman heft her bag onto her shoulder and stride away. Unbelievable, he thought, staring in wide-eyed amusement at her swaying bum...
“Tom!” Angie came running up to him. “There you are.”
Tom’s smile faded as he saw Angie.
“Where the hell have you been? I’m bloody freezing and you missed the end of the race...”
“No, I didn’t. I was standing with some of your work mates a little way down from the finish and we couldn’t get through the crowds quick enough.”
Tom glared at no one in particular. He was feeling disgruntled and was not going to be easily pacified.
“Give me my damn bag and let me get some warm clothes on, for Christ’s sake!” He snatched at the bag, miffed that Angie had not been there earlier. As Angie would have said ‘sometimes he could be such such a child’ instead of a thirty year old mature man.
“Soo... Did you see my sprint finish then?” he asked as he pulled his wet shirt over his head.
“Yes, we did. It was a bit brave of you, wasn’t it?”
“Huh? What do you mean?”
“According to your mates, that was the new boss’s wife you beat.”
The End
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