As I entered the fourth checkpoint, I went through my usual routine of filling my bottles, taking a salt tablet, and asking about the temperature.
“It’s 115 degrees now,” the medic said. “But it’s going to hit 120 soon enough. You want one of these?” He handed me a hot Pepsi. It was the only time the organizers had given us anything other than water to drink. Even though I could almost feel it burn my throat, I gulped it straight down.
“Thanks,” I said. “You got any rehydrate solution?” I’d been popping salt tablets throughout the day, but with half the race still to come, I wanted to make sure I had enough to last. He took one of my bottles and made up a salt and sugar drink.
“You sure you’re okay?” he said, taking a closer look at me as he handed it back.
“I’m fine. I’m just taking precautions.”
Before I left, I checked the timings of the runners ahead of me. Tommy, Zeng, and Julian were among them, and they were only a quarter of an hour up the road. I was surprised they weren’t further ahead and decided to step up the pace a bit. After all, I was hydrated, I’d just taken on an extra 150 calories from the Pepsi, and it was getting hot. I was ready to attack and knew that if I stayed strong, I’d probably catch them within the next one or two checkpoints.
I caught Julian at the next one, checkpoint five. He didn’t look great, but he didn’t look finished either. What interested me was the fact that Tommy and Zeng had left only minutes before I’d arrived. I quickly dug in my bag and pulled out the secret weapon I’d been holding in reserve this whole race. My tiny iPod.
I clipped it on, poked the earbuds in, and hit play as I headed back out into the heat. I knew the thing only had a few hours of battery life, which is why I’d never turned it on during any of the long afternoons I’d spent in the tent or at any other point in the race. I’d wanted to keep it for a moment when I needed a boost, and this was the perfect opportunity.
I listened to the playlist I had carefully put together over the previous months. The list included some big songs, a few surging anthems that I knew would get my feet going. But the real rocket fuel was Johnny Cash. When that baritone filled my ears with lyrics about outsiders and the kind of men everyone always writes off, I felt my spirit lift. He was singing just to me, calling me to push harder, run faster, and prove the doubters wrong.
When I finally saw Tommy at checkpoint seven, he looked awful. He was slumped on a chair, and two or three volunteers were desperately trying to cool him down, spraying him with water and fanning him with their clipboards. He looked at me, and I could tell right then that I had him.
I turned away to give him some privacy, filled my bottles, and popped another salt tablet. Zeng had just left the checkpoint, and in front of him was a guy we all called Brett, a Kiwi runner who was having an excellent day, and an American female runner named Jax. I knew I could still win the stage, but I also knew I didn’t need to. I wasn’t concerned about Brett and Jax finishing ahead of me because both their overall times were hours behind mine.
All that mattered was that I passed Zeng, who was probably now five minutes ahead of me for the stage; as long as I did that, the twenty-minute overall lead I held on him before the day started would remain. With only six miles to race in the last day stage, there was no way I could lose the overall time, and the winner’s medal would be mine. There were two checkpoints left to run, and a total of ten or twelve miles. If I kept going like I had been, I’d do it.
As I was putting some water on my head, I listened to what the doctor was saying to Tommy.
“You’re very hot, Tommy, and we’d rather you go out with Dion than on your own. Will you do that?”
I fiddled with my earbuds and pretended not to hear. I didn’t want to leave the guy stranded, but I was racing to win. If he couldn’t keep up, I wasn’t going to carry him.
As I checked my bag straps and prepared to move off, Tommy pushed himself off the seat and stood next to me.
“Are you sure you’re okay, Tommy?”
“Yeah,” he said, his voice hoarse and faint. “I’m just struggling. It’s too hot.”
We moved out. In the few minutes that I’d been in the shade of the checkpoint, someone had turned up the heat a few more degrees. It was like running in a forced-air oven, and the sun cut like needles into the flesh on my arms. I was loving it. Even though I wondered whether I should have reapplied the sunscreen I’d put on in the morning, nothing could wipe the smile from my face.
There was no breeze and no shade. Everything was hot—the air, the rocks, even the plastic trim and metal zippers on my backpack. All that existed out there was heat.
But I knew I wanted to catch Zeng. I didn’t know how strong he was or whether he was struggling, but I knew I felt about as good as I possibly could, given the conditions. This was my chance. I had to take it.
We were only a few hundred feet out from the checkpoint, and already Tommy was struggling to keep up. But he was a tough runner, and he wasn’t going to give up on the race anytime soon.
We were in a straight gravel section, one where the pink markers were placed every fifty feet. “Come on, Tommy,” I said, trying to get him to pick up his pace. “Let’s run the flags.”
We ran to the first marker, then walked to the next one before running again. We carried on like that for a half mile, and soon the track became sandy and opened out into an even wider area. All around us were sand canyons, twenty-foot-high walls of compressed dust and dirt as far as the eye could see. It looked like the surface of Mars, and if it was possible, I could have sworn that there was even less air and more heat in there.
Tommy was no longer at my side. I knew he’d drop back eventually. This is it, I thought. Time to move.
I ran through four or five flags, feeling my breathing hold steady and my pace remain solid. It felt good to be running free again, good to know that with every step I was reeling in the guy ahead.
And yet there was something nagging me. I couldn’t stop thinking about Tommy. Was he okay? Was he still with me? Was he going to make it out here on his own?
I slowed down.
I stopped.
And then I looked back.
Tommy was swaying like a drunkard. His arms were flailing, his balance destroyed. He looked as though he was in an earthquake, and each step forward was a battle against invisible forces. I watched him, willing him to shake it off and start running toward me.
Come on, Tommy. Don’t bail on me now.
It was a futile wish, and within a few seconds I was running the three hundred feet back to where he was swaying and staggering on the spot.
“Tommy, tell me what’s going on.”