By Jack Mint
Push yourself, Harriet, there’s no tortoise in this race to beat you.
Her heart beat as fast as a plucked guitar string as she gained on Fiona Fox.
Fiona snapped her teeth Harriet playfully.
“If I pass you later, Hare, you better watch out.”
Through the flapping noise the paper number 106 made on her back, she heard Fiona shout,
“Don’t fall asleep this time!”
Harriet leaned more into her run across the desert as if the wind could whip those words out of her long ears. It could for a moment. The repetition of her feet on the earth and the breath going in and out of her lungs had a way of unlatching the past. Harriet felt as a ship catching the wind when the anchor was abruptly cut away. However, it was never for long before someone else, or her own sabotaging mind put that reminder back into her conscience that she, Harriet Hare, the marathon record holder, had lost a race to one of the slowest land animals.
It was not long before Harriet knew she was miles ahead of the nearest competitor. Up and down she went through the desert hills as the sun climbed into its zenith. She could not wait to see that desert record shatter in front of everyone. All the animals that laughed at her one folly would get a good dose of their own feet in their mouths. Harriet forced herself to run harder, fueled by the glee she would feel. So much so, she tamped down the throbbing pain in her chest.
She came to the top of the last hill and saw the finish line across one more expanse of desert. The pain in her chest had worsened and she thought to slow down. She was well beyond the record finish time and nobody was coming in second for a long time.
No! she immediately thought. Don’t you remember the last time you’d take a little break? Not again Harriet, no way!
At the bottom of the hill was the last water station for the runners.
One drink, her body begged.
In a moment of relent, her sore feet dropped down to a trot until she saw who the volunteer was holding out the cup of water.
Tiffany Tortoise waved, “Hey Harriet! You’re doing so go—” but Harriet smacked that cup of water out of Tiffany’s hand and sprinted harder than she had ever done before.
Down the trail, black pulses narrowed her vision toward the last stretch. Caught by surprise, she realized she had no breath. She was used to anaerobic exercise, but nothing was coming in. Her constant heartbeat gave one last gigantic WHUMP and Harriet tumbled off the side of the trail. Her eyes wide with fear she gasped to no avail and curled up beneath the shade of a mesquite tree.
Every single racer, including Fiona Fox, passed by and laughed at the repeated hubris of bunnies. It was not until Tiffany came down the track at the close of evening. Only the tortoise stopped to wake up the hare. But there would be no more races for Harriet.
