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The women's marathon was scheduled to begin at 8:00 pm Alpine time. Matt wondered if they had scheduled it that way for the television audience in the United States, or if the middle of the afternoon in Dublin was simply the best time for a really long run.
His nerves were shot.
It had made his heart ache to see Darcy standing practically naked, probably cold and scared to death, in that giant natatorium, with thousands of strangers shouting at her. How she could focus so intently was a mystery. Matt was certain that she wanted to run and hide somewhere.
He damn sure would want to, if he were in her place.
At least he understood running. The two latest commentators were full of details about the course, the challenges in this part or that part. They discussed "the wall," the point at which a runner's conditioning and food played out, leaving her with only her force of will to withstand pain and hallucinations to keep going.
Matt had once run five miles to see if he could do it, and he could, but it took him three days to get over it. Merely walking twenty-six miles would take him half a day, if he could even do that. Running twenty-six plus miles seemed impossible. The woman who won this race would probably do it in two and a half hours.
That would conclude Darcy's events. Hooray!
Maybe he could finally sleep soundly again.
There looked to be about a hundred women milling around at the starting point. While the camera panned over them the commentators introduced six or seven of the favorites, including the current world record holder, a wiry woman from Kenya, and Darcy.
Darcy looked so small, solemn and lonely. Focusing on the ground in front of her, looking up only when another runner patted her shoulder or whispered something to her. She didn't smile. None of the runners did.
Matt was the only person on the planet who had a clue to what she was going through, but there was not a damn thing he could do to help her.
Anxious, he swallowed hard. Twice.
The strategies in such a race were unknown to him. A few minutes after it began, much like the cycling event the participants had stretched out into a main group, with a few leaders, a few laggards, and a few in between.
This time, however, Darcy was not one of the leaders. She was in the large group in the middle, running smoothly.
After four miles, she was still in that same group. Donna Biagio, the track and field announcer, had little news.
"Darcy's running well enough right now, Hal, but she's in the middle of the pack at this early stage. Three runners have already dropped out, and I have the feeling that the next few miles might tell the tale for Darcy also. She's done well so far, but then she only finished the diving event less than an hour ago. It's hard to see how she has anything left.
“Wait a minute, Hal. Darcy has moved up on the two runners ahead of her. She's still running steadily, but it looks like she's picked up the pace ever so slightly."
Donna was right. As the camera zoomed in on the middle of the pack, Matt saw her ease past two more runners.
Matt felt a sharp pain in his left shin and looked down to see he had been pressing it against a table leg. He went to his kitchen to put more ice in his iced tea. When he got back, Darcy was passing a group of three women and the announcer was beginning to raise her voice.
"We still can't tell, Hal, whether she's really serious with this pace or if she's trying to fake the other runners into keeping up with her."
Darcy’s new pace was evidently not a ploy. She was still running smoothly, squinting her eyes against the sunlight, and gradually passing more runners.
By the seven mile point she was leading the large middle group.
At nine miles, she was out front of the middle group and approaching the smaller group of leaders.
Matt noticed his ice had melted.
He ignored it.
At eleven miles only two runners were ahead of her. Both announcers were concentrating on Darcy now.
"She's picked up the pace just a bit again, Donna. She doesn't look terribly stressed but if she's smart she'd better be saving something for that last tough third of the race!"
Donna concurred. "Don't forget about 'the wall,' Hal. As far as we know, Darcy has never competed in a major marathon before, and the wall is famous for crushing newcomers. She probably should cool her present pace off, that is, if she wants a chance at finishing in the top three in this race."
Indeed, the two women ahead of Darcy did not seem particularly concerned, even when Darcy passed them and opened a slight lead.
There was no help for it, Matt had to go to the bathroom.
On the way back he poured out his tea, replaced the ice, and splashed in some orange juice. His hands were shaking. Some spilled on the counter but he didn’t stop to wipe it up.
At the fifteen-mile point Darcy seemed to be running much as she had been. The last two runners she had passed were probably sorry they hadn't taken her challenge more seriously. She was far ahead of the second-place runner, who could only be seen from time to time, when the intervening hills allowed.
At the twenty mile point she was six minutes ahead.
Matt could see no sign of a wall no matter how hard he looked. It finally occurred to him that Darcy seemed to be running on her toes rather than her whole foot, like the other runners. Her expression was concentrated and serious, but her movements were still light and quick.
There were a surprising number of spectators along the course as it wound up and down hills and across bridges. Enthusiastic and elated, they loudly cheered Darcy on.
Suddenly, one young man in cutoff shorts and faded t-shirt darted out of the crowd. As Darcy ran by, he grabbed her, wrapping his arms around her, sending them both crashing to the pavement.
Race officials in the car following Darcy were on him in an instant, pulling him aside and sitting on him until police could be summoned. Darcy was up and running again in less than a minute, holding both hands to her head briefly.
Matt found himself standing without realizing having done so.
He gaped as Darcy continued to run, favoring one leg and bleeding from a scrape on her knee and a cut on her left temple. Her eyes were wider than he'd ever seen them, and she looked to be in pain.
Darcy was running down the stripe in the middle of the road now, not hugging the curves as she had been previously.
The announcers were furious on her behalf. They sounded like they wanted to pound the young man, and possibly the race officials, senseless.
Soon they concentrated once more on Darcy.
Close to her former pace, the front runner was still limping, but breathing steadily and looking straight ahead. The left side of her face and her left hand were smeared red from the blood she'd wiped away. She slung her hand at the ground and a few droplets appeared on the lens of the camera in the car following her.
The Olympic marathon is always laid out so the final 400 meters take place on the stadium track. When Darcy emerged from the tunnel onto the track, an enormous roar arose from the packed stands.
Darcy slowed, obviously startled. Looking around quickly, she began running again, still limping, and completing the lap to a standing ovation. After crossing the line, she almost disappeared into the arms of Coach Haskin. He held a damp towel to her temple.
Both were crying, Darcy with relief perhaps, the coach from joy.
Matt was exhausted, for himself and for Darcy too.
The booth announcer recapped the run, nearly eight minutes under the previous record.
Donna Biagio, sticking her microphone through the crowd, asked Darcy yet again how she felt.
"Tired," she replied, in a shaky voice, dried blood spotting her tank top.
The coach guided her into an ambulance, which rolled slowly out of the stadium, lights flashing.
Poor Darcy! At least it was over!
Matt took a hot shower and fell into bed in his underwear, falling asleep instantly.
