The Horizon Dash
Joe looked into the telescope to see across the plain of low yellow grass to the horizon where Feet Speedman was a wavering brown dot on the brink of going away. Joe had a sweat-smeared plastic stopwatch in his hand and he turned it up to his eye. “Three hours fifteen seconds,” he said to himself. “Faster, Feet!”
A clipboard rested next to his boots, and there was a paper there that had some numbers scribbled down in a slouching column. The smallest number on top, circled in blue ink: “3:21.34.”
Inside the telescope Feet rippled in and out of the heat rolling over the distant grass.
Joe screwed his eye in the viewfinder. Official games were in a week. Would Speedman even qualify?
Then Feet disappeared at 3:20:56 and Joe clicked the stopwatch in disbelief. The Horizon Dash was theirs to lose.
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