Fisk and Jack both shot out with sand flying everywhere. Jack managed to edge in front of Fisk and he stayed there till almost the end of the race. Jack started to overbalance and topple forward. Fisk was getting up level with him. Jack’s arms were everywhere as he tried to keep himself balanced.

Over the shouts of the kids watching, someone yelled ‘Dive!’ Fisk dived for the flag as Jack fell forward.

They hit the flag together. In all the sand and confusion, no one knew who had got it. They were both too exhausted to fight for it, and Mr Spears declared it a draw – they would each get the same points.

‘Great work, Jack!’ I shouted as he struggled to his feet.

‘If he hadn’t tripped me, he probably would have won. I hate the diving bit at the end, but I had no choice.’

We were heading over to the board area. Mr Spears was making an announcement about the last two legs of the ironman contest.

‘ . . . and so we’ve decided to join the two events,’ he said. ‘As soon as you come in on your board, drop it on the sand here, run around the flagpole and then head straight back into the water for the swim leg.’

Bryce and Bubba raced over.

‘We’ve been doing some calculations, Mitch. We checked with Mr Spears. He’s doing the scoring. You and Lan have three points, Fisk and Jack have seven.’

‘So you’re four points behind,’ burst in Bubba.

We all looked at Bubba.

‘Hey, I’m the human calculator.’

‘Impressive,’ mumbled Jack.

‘Now they’ve combined the events,’ said Bryce, ‘they might combine the score, too. If you win and get seven points, Fisk can only win the ironman if he comes second. If he gets third, you tie with him. If you get second, and Fisk gets third . . .’

‘Yes?’

‘Fisk wins. And if Fisk gets fourth, and you get second . . .’ Bryce continued.

‘Yes?’

‘Fisk still wins.’

‘And what if they give separate scores for the two events?’ I asked.

Bryce and Bubba looked at each other. ‘Right.’ They scampered off to do more calculations.

If it was all one event, then I couldn’t believe my luck. If I could get ahead on the board, then maybe I could stay ahead of Fisk during the swim . . . whatever. I just had to paddle and swim my own race. The rest would take care of itself.

About 30 of us lined up along the beach, boards in our arms. My first warning of trouble was that I couldn’t see Fisk anywhere nearby. My second was when I saw Jimmy Paisley and Richard Mazis on either side of me.

I started to back away but was beaten by Mr Spears yelling ‘Go!’ through his megaphone.

I was up and running. Straight away, I knew what Fisk had planned. Mazis and Paisley were boxing me in. They were doing it carefully so they wouldn’t attract attention. They stuck close to me like leeches. The faster board riders, Fisk included, were leaving the pack behind as they headed out towards Matty – the first turning point.

At one stage, I felt someone grab my leg. I kicked out savagely and landed a solid blow on Paisley’s face. He swore at me. I had no choice but to fight them off. There were enough kids around us for them to be getting away with it. And no kid would dob on these two: that would mean getting on the wrong side of Fisk.

Another fifteen seconds and the whole thing would be over. I needed to think quickly. If I could only get away from them for a moment, I could paddle clear of them forever.