I walk into the night. I’ll take the last Metro to the airport and be at the ticket desk in less than twenty minutes. I’m sure Trey won’t be happy with the last-minute travel expense, but I don’t care. With my FIRE corporate card and passport in my back pocket, I’ll be on a flight back to Florida in no time.
10
CHARLIE
No one is happy. Everyone is cold. This is a disaster.
Kalispell was hit by a late-season snowstorm overnight. Six inches of fresh snow cover the ground. And our run course.
“I can handle a little cold!”
“I flew all the way from Texas for this event!”
“Well, I flew in from Ireland!”
“Let m-m-me out there. I trained all y-y-y-year for this marathon!”
Yesterday’s ultra-marathon had beautiful weather, but today’s races are cancelled. Most of the athletes are understanding; a vocal few are not. As a company, we can’t risk someone getting hypothermia on course. Oliver made the right call to cancel, but it’s a tough one.
The race operations team is zipping around on golf carts to get barricades and signage from the course and break it down. The expo and finish line are still up; they’ll be the last to close. Some families are still milling through the race village, stopping at sponsor tents for freebies or information on their products. The mood is sour.
“Raj, I apologize for this terrible mess,” Celine pleads behind me.
“You didn’t make it snow. It’s all good. We got tons of footage yesterday,” Raj reassures her.
I’m guessing Celine is nervous about how FIRE will be portrayed in the video he will post to his millions of followers. I turn round to see if I can help.
“Raj, do you and your team need any help rescheduling your travel? Has the snow impacted any flights?”
Celine shoots me a sharp glare. I can’t understand how she is mad at me right now. I’m trying to help. She, of course, has flawless makeup and styled hair that looks perfect under a knit FIRE beanie. How did she even think to bring one?!
Raj responds with his casual nonchalance. “Eh, we’re good. Hey, what are you guys doing with the finishers’ T-shirts?”
“No finishers for these distances, so no one gets a shirt. We usually work with a charity to donate them to children in need around the world.” Just like the losing team shirts at the end of the Superbowl.
“We’re doing a big project in Côte d’Ivoire in a month. Think you can get the shirts to us by then?” Raj asks, seizing the opportunity. “The shirts still get donated, and then I can do a callback to my video about this race.”
“Raj, that would be wonderful. You are so thoughtful to make this offer,” Celine says as she touches her hand to her heart. “Please give the details to Charlie,” she instructs and then turns to me, as if waiting for me to write down the shipping information.
I hand Raj my fresh business card. “Have your team send the details over this week,” I say, as Raj smiles and pockets my card.
Ahmed walks up, a rolled-up tarp slung over his shoulder. “Hey, man, I can route the shirts to go on the truck that’s heading back to Tampa. They’ll get back to the depot much faster than if they stay on the regional truck.”
Raj nods and responds with, “Cool.”
“That’s perfect, thank you!” I say to Ahmed so he can stash the bulky load on his shoulders in the proper crate.
I’m surprised by how well everyone is working together this morning. A freak snowstorm has thrown everything into chaos, but our crew is business as usual. I look around to see where I can pitch in and help, knowing I can’t go off on course and be too far from Oliver in case he needs something. Our travel team is already adjusting our flights. We’ll leave the park in two hours to head back to our hotels and check out.
As I scan the snowy park, I spot a man running. I assume he’s a local who is braving the cold for his regular morning run, but then I spot a FIRE race bib pinned to his chest. I turn to Ana. “Oh no, we have a rogue runner,” I tell her. He’s not a race bandit; he paid for his entry. But he is running the course even though we’ve cancelled the event.
“Good luck with that,” Ana says before returning to the merchandise tents to help pack away everything that didn’t get wet with snow.
I approach the man hesitantly. He isn’t moving particularly fast. “Sir, we cancelled this morning’s race. I’m so sorry, I have to ask you to stop.”
At first, I think he doesn’t hear me, so I start again. “Sir, the race officials have deemed it unsafe to run in these conditions.”
My fingers and toes are numb from the cold; my thin layers are barely enough to keep my teeth from chattering. I can only imagine that he is feeling the same, although his movement must be giving him some warmth.
