Letsrun, can this thread please go to the homepage everytime the OP puts in a new chapter. This has been great and I don't want to miss any of the story.
Letsrun, can this thread please go to the homepage everytime the OP puts in a new chapter. This has been great and I don't want to miss any of the story.
bump
Yep, I had forgotten about this thread. It is AMAZING though!!! It needs to be immortalized on the main page.
Lol!!!
Great vignette! More!
At the rate we are going, 2027 will be welcoming a wasteland. Politicians are destroying the planet quicker than China could ever imagine.
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."
This appears to be exactly what will unfold in the next few years. Somehow you nailed it. Or maybe not so much.
The year is 2027. The magician JS is headcoach at a famous university in the States and make marvellous results.The world of running is overwhelmed.
Bümp
I would do anything to hear the rest of this story
In 2027 posters will still be predicting that their political enemies will ruin the world in the next 5 years.
It's gonna be 2027 before we reach the end of this story
The year is 2027 and Letsrun goes public. The share price of Letsrun has quadrupled since its IPO, the LRC share was trading at $42.05 on 18 May 2027 and as of the end of trading on 20 June 2027, the stock traded at $201.
LR will not be around in 2027. SJD-dot-com will be the new destination for All Things Running and Beautiful, as long as you toe the company line. With all social media apps banned by 2025 this will be a no-brainer for anyone hoping Rupp will pop a 2:05 any day now.
The Swedish Guru wrote:
The year is 2027. The magician JS is headcoach at a famous university in the States and make marvellous results.The world of running is overwhelmed.
Ahaha! I really believe this will come true.Truly a magician.
But what will Champs nee Eastbay nee Footlocker nee Kinney go by then?
OP, I thought this was new. And you had me at "He was trying his best." Galen Rupp always does!
Kara Goucher looks out from the comfort of the wrap-around porch at Goucher Ranch. The back range is stained with the Martian blood of the setting sun across the rose-gold expanse sprawling out from her front door. The pine trees marking the edge of the property are tall, resolute sentries guarding her sanctuary. She pulls a fleece throw blanket around her shoulders against the early-spring chill and reaches for the bottle of 2016 Cardinale Cabernet Sauvignon on the table beside her. She pours the wine into a stemless glass, and smiles as she reads the familiar words etched into it. There are a million reasons why you can’t. Focus on the few reasons why you can.
She misses it. The task and the toil. The fullness of a distance run and the heaviness of linear, discrete purpose pressing down upon her shoulders. She feels the restlessness in her legs and an insatiable craving in the area just behind her manubrium. She takes a sip from the glass.
Adam Goucher opens the screen door behind her and steps onto the porch. He’s holding three fingers of Blanton’s in a crystal Waterford tumbler. He takes a sip, purses his lips, and squints his eyes against the alien sunset. He turns his back to the panorama.
“Can we talk about this?”
Kara looks away and takes another sip of wine. Adam puts his free hand in his pocket and studies his wife’s profile. Her jaw clenches as she shifts her weight beneath the throw blanket.
“Kara, please.”
She turns to face her listless husband. His scruff is neatly trimmed and his eyes glisten beneath furrowed eyebrows. His cheeks are fuller than they’ve been since before his comeback. She angles her head and her eyes study the pale blue cashmere sweater stretched over his broadening shoulders. It was a birthday gift from four years earlier. After his New York victory but before Colt’s ascension. It was a simpler time. They celebrated at Pasta Jay’s. She closes her eyes and remembers the burrata salad and cheap merlot, the faint scent of oregano and dry parmesan. It is a time and place locked behind many layers of tempered glass. She opens her eyes and exhales slowly.
“There’s nothing to talk about.”
“I disagree.”
“What do you want me to say, Adam? We promised we’d never let him back into our life. We promised we’d keep Colt away from him. You poked the bear!”
“What choice did I have?”
“You could have walked away.”
“I’m not afraid.”
Adam’s tumbler slips from his fingers and hits the wood decking with a loud thud. Colt Goucher stands on the top step of the porch. His shirt is slightly damp from the effort of his second run, and his hair curls out from under his five-panel hat. A wispy brown mustache belies the conviction in his tone. He steps up onto the porch, picks up the now-empty tumbler, and hands it to his father.
“I’m not afraid,” he repeats himself. “I want to race Galen.”
Adam looks up at his son and then down at his long, angular shadow. He puts his hand on his shoulder, looks him in the eye, and squeezes gently.
“Colt, your mother is right. This is my mess. I’ll call Colbert, we’ll do another interview.”
Colt shakes his head. He takes off his cap, runs his fingers through his hair, and pulls it back on. His movements are deliberate.
“I’m not asking, it’s already set. I talked to Kyle Merber this morning. It’ll be on the front page of The Lap Count tomorrow.”
Kara looks at her son for a moment before discarding the throw blanket and rising to meet his gaze. She covers the distance in a single stride and wraps him in a tight embrace.
“Colt, you don’t know what you’re doing.”
“I just want to settle it, Mom.”
“It won’t be a fair fight.”
Colt steps away from his mother and looks out on the back range. His eyes scan the mountains for a path he traversed last summer in an attempt to take an FKT from Adam. He smiles, his eyes unfocusing as he relishes the memory. He blinks, and turns back to his parents.
“I’m going to stay in the cabin for the next few weeks. I’ll let you know if I need anything.”
***
Colt’s shadow bounces in the light of his headlamp as he makes his way to the cabin. He knows the route well enough that the headlamp is redundant. He allows his mind to wander as he listens to the soft crunch of pine needles beneath his Skechers.
His motivation for beating Rupp is clear, but what of the other two men from the simulation? Withrow, the broken champion. Kiptoo-Biwott, the never-was. Why are they entertaining this? Is the lure of nostalgia really so strong? Are their inadequacies so immense? Grown men in the pursuit of former glory, taking up arms against the wunderkind. 'Now' must be a totally foreign concept to them, he thinks. They exist only in a deep corner of some long-forgotten trophy case. He pities them, and feels it will be a great kindness to put them out of their misery.
He shakes the thoughts from his head as he steps up to the cabin door. He frowns as he notices it is slightly ajar. He pushes it open and fumbles for the light switch.
Billy Nelson is sitting at the table next to an open red coffee can. His eyes are filled with disappointment and worry. His hair is a wild mess.
“Colt, we need to talk.”
NO F*****ING WAY
i need to know what's in the vial
BUMP
GordonGecko wrote:
The year is 2027 and Letsrun goes public. The share price of Letsrun has quadrupled since its IPO, the LRC share was trading at $42.05 on 18 May 2027 and as of the end of trading on 20 June 2027, the stock traded at $201.
Sounds about right. Given the inflation by 2027, $201 will be the equivalent of 50 cents today. LRMB right to the pink sheets.
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