the tears and the strategic discussion, Charity would feed him and fête him and tell him all about her life at Harvard, that she would feign disdain that he had chosen the path of athletics over a career of the mind but nevertheless be proud of her brother and bring her friends out to cheer for him on race day. For his sister, he wanted to turn in the fastest race of his life.
The phone lines at home were unreliable, but Charity had always kept in touch. Keita tried to remember when she had last called. Finally, he used some of his precious cash to take a taxi to her apartment. The note Keita had dictated days earlier remained tacked to Charity’s door. Her landlord said that though her rent was paid, he had not seen her in a few days.
The race organizers had shifted the date of the marathon to early March, because in recent years temperatures had climbed too high on the traditional race date in April. But this was a cold March day. Exposed to the freezing wind for thirty minutes before the starter’s pistol fired, Keita did not feel well. During the long wait, other runners kept shoving past him. When the gun finally went off, Keita tried to follow the leaders.
There were so many elite runners pushing and shoving that justfifteen minutes into the race, he was left unfocused and spent. The lead runners from Zantoroland ran in a pack to protect one another from the shoving, but they were moving too fast for Keita. It was the most prestigious marathon in the world, but Keita’s thoughts kept turning to his father and his sister. Where was she? To make matters worse, the hernia was throbbing, and Keita experienced a dizzy spell. He had neglected to drink enough water before the race, and then he missed the first water station. His lips were cracking, and he thought obsessively about drinking water.
Within eight kilometres, he felt he was chasing runners he would never catch. He felt energy draining out of him. The pack of lead runners dropped him, and then the chase pack of twenty runners dropped him. After ten kilometres, he slowed to an easy pace. If he had no chance of running a fast time, it was best to save his legs for another race and take this as an easy training run. But even at a pace he could have managed as a teenager at altitude, Keita now felt ill and desperately thirsty. At water station after water station, he drank greedily and spilled water all over himself. His hamstring clamped so tightly that he had to walk up the last part of Heartbreak Hill. Keita struggled to the finish line in 2:35. He finished sixty-fifth and was the slowest of the fifteen Zantorolanders in the race.
That was it. Keita had no chance of staying in America to build his running career. Hamm would send him home. Keita would be made to disappear one night. His life would end before it had truly begun. No career, no family, no lasting creation or crowning achievement, nothing.
Anton Hamm came to see him in the race recovery area, where Keita was downing cup after cup of electrolyte drink. Keita expected that Hamm would be furious, but he was surprised to see the man appearing calm.
“Not to worry,” Hamm said, clapping his giant palm on Keita’s shoulder. “Everybody has bad races. You just need a little more time, but not in America. You need a lot less competition. You need to be in Freedom State. How busted up are you?”
“I’m okay. I had a bad day, so I took it easy. My legs will be fine.”
Hamm said that he would give Keita two weeks in Freedom State to rest and do light workouts before being tested in a fifteen-kilometre race.
T HEY FLEW FROM L OGAN A IRPORT ON A NON-STOP, FIFTEENHOUR trip to Freedom State. Keita sat in economy and Anton Hamm in first class, and as they exited the plane together, Hamm repeated his instructions.
“Nod and indicate that you understand, and otherwise, defer to me. I have your passport, your visa, your papers. Everything will be fine.”
They passed through three lines of security
The phone lines at home were unreliable, but Charity had always kept in touch. Keita tried to remember when she had last called. Finally, he used some of his precious cash to take a taxi to her apartment. The note Keita had dictated days earlier remained tacked to Charity’s door. Her landlord said that though her rent was paid, he had not seen her in a few days.
The race organizers had shifted the date of the marathon to early March, because in recent years temperatures had climbed too high on the traditional race date in April. But this was a cold March day. Exposed to the freezing wind for thirty minutes before the starter’s pistol fired, Keita did not feel well. During the long wait, other runners kept shoving past him. When the gun finally went off, Keita tried to follow the leaders.
There were so many elite runners pushing and shoving that justfifteen minutes into the race, he was left unfocused and spent. The lead runners from Zantoroland ran in a pack to protect one another from the shoving, but they were moving too fast for Keita. It was the most prestigious marathon in the world, but Keita’s thoughts kept turning to his father and his sister. Where was she? To make matters worse, the hernia was throbbing, and Keita experienced a dizzy spell. He had neglected to drink enough water before the race, and then he missed the first water station. His lips were cracking, and he thought obsessively about drinking water.
Within eight kilometres, he felt he was chasing runners he would never catch. He felt energy draining out of him. The pack of lead runners dropped him, and then the chase pack of twenty runners dropped him. After ten kilometres, he slowed to an easy pace. If he had no chance of running a fast time, it was best to save his legs for another race and take this as an easy training run. But even at a pace he could have managed as a teenager at altitude, Keita now felt ill and desperately thirsty. At water station after water station, he drank greedily and spilled water all over himself. His hamstring clamped so tightly that he had to walk up the last part of Heartbreak Hill. Keita struggled to the finish line in 2:35. He finished sixty-fifth and was the slowest of the fifteen Zantorolanders in the race.
That was it. Keita had no chance of staying in America to build his running career. Hamm would send him home. Keita would be made to disappear one night. His life would end before it had truly begun. No career, no family, no lasting creation or crowning achievement, nothing.
Anton Hamm came to see him in the race recovery area, where Keita was downing cup after cup of electrolyte drink. Keita expected that Hamm would be furious, but he was surprised to see the man appearing calm.
“Not to worry,” Hamm said, clapping his giant palm on Keita’s shoulder. “Everybody has bad races. You just need a little more time, but not in America. You need a lot less competition. You need to be in Freedom State. How busted up are you?”
“I’m okay. I had a bad day, so I took it easy. My legs will be fine.”
Hamm said that he would give Keita two weeks in Freedom State to rest and do light workouts before being tested in a fifteen-kilometre race.
T HEY FLEW FROM L OGAN A IRPORT ON A NON-STOP, FIFTEENHOUR trip to Freedom State. Keita sat in economy and Anton Hamm in first class, and as they exited the plane together, Hamm repeated his instructions.
“Nod and indicate that you understand, and otherwise, defer to me. I have your passport, your visa, your papers. Everything will be fine.”
They passed through three lines of security
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