The Year is 2027...

c, goucher wrote:

Shadrack Kiptoo-Biwott sits on the couch in the Withrows’ living room. A glass coffee table holds a set of coasters and a pine-scented candle. His coat is still on, and he holds his hat in his hands. His face carries the fatigue of ten thousand runs, deep lines around tired eyes. A light-grey scruff stands in sharp contrast to the deep, muted brown of his face.

“Can I get you anything to drink?”

“Water will be fine.”

Matt Withrow walks into his kitchen. A Bucky Badger clock hangs over a round kitchen table. His wife peers at him over the rim of her coffee mug. Matt looks at her as he grabs a glass from the cabinet, and shrugs. He smiles at her as he walks back into the living room.

He finds Shadrack standing by the bookcase with his back to the room. His coat is draped over the arm of the sofa, and his hat is resting on the coffee table next to the pine-scented candle. He turns when he hears Matt enter the room, and Matt notices he is holding a copy of Norwegian Wood.

“Murakami fan?”

Shadrack doesn’t respond. He closes the book and places it back onto the bookshelf. He walks over to Matt and grabs the glass of water. He takes a long, slow drink. The two men stare at each other for a few moments. Matt breaks the silence.

“So, Alberto called you?”

“Yes.”

“Shaddy, I’m in no condition to race anyone. Let alone Colt Goucher.”

Shadrack turns away from Matt and walks to the window.

“You have a very nice life here, Matt. A beautiful home with beautiful books and a beautiful family. You seem—” he pauses for a moment and glances back at Matt’s stomach— ”comfortable.”

“So you see why I don’t need this.”

Shadrack nods, and turns to face Matt. His eyes are filled with earnest vigor, and the lines on his face seem deeper than before.

“I was in New York in 2023, fitter than ever. You have to understand, Matt. I’ve never won a title. Not at Footlocker. Not at NCAAs. I didn’t make teams. Fifth at New York. Third at Boston. Fine. Great achievements. But to win? That is something else. That is something that can give a man ‘comfort.’ New York in 2023 was to be my comfort, Matt. Do you see what I’m saying?”

Matt looks at Shadrack with a soft focus. His mouth is open and his breathing is hurried. He blinks twice, but says nothing. Shadrack continues.

“Adam Goucher came riding into New York like a wraith in the night. A skeleton with paper thin skin stretched tight like a condom. He stole my comfort. This is my opportunity for revenge.”

“You beat the kid in the simulation. Get your own revenge.”

“Everyone knows I can beat Colt Goucher. It will be no great victory for a 61-minute half marathoner to beat a child. Even a clean Galen Rupp wouldn’t shock people. But you? Matt, you can embarrass him. 240 pounds of suburban disappointment against the pinnacle of aerobic breeding. The Gouchers are too strong, too powerful. They need to be humbled.”

Matt stands dumbfounded. He doesn’t know if he should be insulted. His heart is pounding so loud he feels Shadrack must hear it. Is he calling me an embarrassment? A disappointment? Does he remember racing me in college? I’m a multiple time All-American! He exhales.

“I think you should leave.”

Shadrack looks at Matt with exasperation. He knows he’s struck a nerve. He sighs and walks past Matt to grab his things, and then walks to the door. He turns the knob, but doesn’t open it.

"You read Murakami. Take his words. ‘Between a high, solid wall and an egg that breaks against it, I will always stand on the side of the egg.’"

He walks out the door, and leaves Matt standing, fat and no longer happy.

c. goucher wrote:

The year is 2027. Colt Goucher has just won his third consecutive Footlocker National Championship. Adam is his coach. ESPN has been infatuated with the Gouchers since Adam came out of retirement to win the New York City Marathon in 2023. There is talk of both father and son qualifying for the 2028 Olympic team together.

ESPN has developed a complex algorithm that can simulate race conditions and performances across every Footlocker National Championship since it's inception as Kinney Nationals. They publicize the simulator with ads across multiple platforms. The general public is enthralled. It is a foregone conclusion that the simulator will confirm that Colt is the greatest high school cross country runner of all time. Kara and Adam are on the Today Show the morning of the big day.

ESPN rolls out the simulator, and Colt emerges victorious in an amazing 47 of 48 races. The lone exception is 2003, where he finishes fourth. Adam is livid. He throws a tantrum on national television in response to the simulation. He shakes with rage. He declares the simulation is broken, that there is no way Colt could have lost.

***

Back in Illinois, Matt Withrow is at home cooking dinner with his wife. He is 240 pounds, fat and happy. He is oblivious to the simulation, and hasn't run a mile in 7 years. The phone rings. It's Alberto Salazar.

"I'm getting a team together to take down the Gouchers."

Withrow laughs and hangs up the phone. His wife asks who it was.

"Telemarketer."

Later that night, Withrow sneaks out of bed and into his home office. His Footlocker jersey is framed over his desk. He takes it down off the wall, and carefully removes the jersey from the frame. He pulls it on over his doughy frame. He grabs spikes from a shelf next to a large trophy. He sees his reflection in the window, and exhales. He looks ridiculous. He could never beat Colt Goucher, not in 2003 and not now. He takes off the jersey, and throws it into the waste basket. He goes upstairs to his wife, and sleeps a dreamless sleep.

The next morning the doorbell rings. It's Shadrack Kiptoo-Biwott. He looks very old, and is wearing a trench coat and a brown fedora.

"Shaddy?"

"We have to do this, Matt."

***

Across the country in Portland, a broken down Galen Rupp is fitting a portly middle-aged woman in a pair of Nike Structures at the local Fleet Feet. Without the testosterone, he looks frail as ever. He is balding with a poor comb over. He is trying his best.

"How do those feel, Alice?"

He feels lucky to have the job. All the money he'd made in his years at the top of American distance running had been squandered on a bad investment in allergy masks. He looks forlornly at a poster on the wall of himself and Mo Farah at the Nike campus. It is badly creased, but the manager lets Galen keep it hanging.

He notices Alberto looking in through the window, and shakes his head.

"Kevin, can you finish up with Alice here? I need to step outside."

Alberto is earnestly waiting for Galen outside. He's a shell of himself, in a baggy Nike track suit and a pair of Vomeros that look like they've got a thousand miles on them.

"Alberto, I can't get you a free pair of shoes. Kevin will fire me, you know that."

"That's not why I'm here, Galen."

Galen looks down at the sidewalk. He closes his eyes and clenches his fists.

"I was hoping you hadn't seen the simulation."

"It's a chance at redemption, Galen."