CHAPTER 45: TRACK RUNNER

The night air buzzed with the low hum of chatter, the scent of popcorn danced in the air around the race track.

The race was set along a long, winding stretch that ran from the start of the track and around the center field of the stadium.

It wasn’t a simple drag race. This track had obstacle courses and hurdles to pass through in other to advance and get to the finish line.

It wasn’t just about speed, it was about precision, endurance and intelligence.

The first half was a long straight path, giving the runners a chance to push their bodies to their speed limits, gaining the upper hand.

But then came the obstacle courses, sharp curves, retrieval of flags, wooden hurdles to jump, racks to climb and slippery surfaces.

The last stretch was was deceptive, appearing smooth at first, but hiding small inclines and dips that could throw off an unprepared runner.

At the very end, just before the finish line, the track split into two choices — one slightly shorter but riddled with bumps and obstacles, the other clean but requiring an extra second to take the curve properly.

It was a gamble. Speed or stability?

Maximus took another sip from his canteen, feeling the cool water slide down his esophagus.

He knelt down on one knee and adjusted his shoe laces.

A distant roar ran through the night, sharp and unmistakable. Dressa had arrived.

She was dressed for the occasion.

A sleek black track race outfit that hugged her tight form, and sneakers that squeaked upon every step she took. Her brown her was tied back in a high ponytail.

A smirk curled her lips. "So you’re the one Zack’s been hyping up?"

’Now that I look at him well, he’s tall and handsome too, shit focus Dressa!’

Maximus took another sip of water before casually capping his canteen.

"Thought right..." He said.

Dressa gave a short laugh and rested a hand on her waist. "You don’t look like you have ran a single track in your life."

Maximus raised an eyebrow. "And what do runners look like? You?"

She tilted her head, pretending to think. "Cocky. Overconfident. Sometimes stupid."

Zack’s voice cut in from the side. "Oh, he’s definitely stupid."

Maximus shot him a dead pan look, but Zack only grinned.

Dressa chuckled before turning her attention back to Maximus. "You know I don’t race just anyone."

"Is that so?"

"Yeah," she said, eyes flickering to his entire body. "Especially not business inclined men... I see them as thieves, sly foxes or much more like green snakes in green grass"

Maximus hummed, glancing back at her body. "Not a fan?"

"I respect them. But they’re not built for this... They belong in conference rooms" she gestured towards the track. "This is not some showroom. This is the real thing. And when we hit those obstacles? You’re gonna wish you had something meaner under those braids of yours."

Maximus shrugged. "Guess we’ll find out."

Her smirk widened. "Guess we will."

From the side, one of the organizers walked up, clipboard in one hand. "Alrighty! We’re about to start. You two clear on the rules?"

Maximus and Dressa both nodded simultaneously.

The organizer turned to Maximus, raising an eyebrow at him. "You sure you wanna go through with this? Dressa doesn’t lose."

Maximus’s expression didn’t change. "There’s a first time for everything."

Zack whistled. "Damn bro!"

Dressa laughed. "I like him, he’s got guts"

The organizer nodded. "Alright then. Get ready for the race... One your marks..."

"Get set!"

"Ready!"

BANG!

The starting gun cracked like thunder through the stadium, silencing the chatter in an instant. The small crowd surged forward in their stands, eyes glued to the track.

Maximus shot off the line with surprising speed, his muscles coiled and springing like a predator unleashed. Dressa was right there beside him, her strides long, smooth and practiced, a black blur tearing up the straightway.

The first hundred meters was pure speed.

Maximus’s heart pounded against his ribs like a war drum. His breaths were controlled but forceful m in through the nose, out through the mouth. The wind whipped past his ears as the track blurred beneath his sneakers.

Dressa glanced sideways mid-sprint, a grin playing on her lips. She was testing him, and saw he wasn’t bluffing.

The crowd roared louder as they hit the first turn. It was a sharp, banked curve that required balance and commitment.

Maximus leaned in low, shoes barely skimming the edge of the traction. Dressa took the inside line, slipping ahead by a fraction. Her ponytail whipped behind her like a battle banner.

Then came the first obstacle zone; a rapid series of waist high wooden hurdles spaced irregularly.

Maximus didn’t slow down. He launched over the first, then the second, his knees tucking tight to his chest. Dressa flowed beside him like water, her technique clean and efficient. One misstep and it was over.

She cleared a hurdle with a spin flip that earned a collective "oooh!" From the audience.

"Show off" Maximus muttered to himself, and clipped the edge of the next hurdle. His right foot landed slightly off balance, but he recovered quickly, using the momentum to spring forward and regain speed.

Up next was a rope wall, ten feel tall, wet from a recent hose down. The footing was slick but Dressa hit it like a spider, hands and feet climbing in sync. Maximus grabbed the rope right behind her, fingers burning from the friction.

Half way up, Dressa’a foot slipped, just for a second.

Maximus surged, pulling himself over the top first and vaulting down the other side with a grunt. His landing was heavy, but solid.

Now it was his turn to lead.

The next stretch was a twisting maze of knee high walls. Sharp turns. Dead ends. Vision blocked by dim lights and haze. Maximus fucked low, zigzagging through, remembering that Zack had a stack in his victory.

Dressa emerged from another path, nearly colliding with him. Their shoulders brushed mid stride.

"You’re cheating?" She huffed, grinning despite her labored breath.

"Ha! Just improvising," he shot back, lungs burning.

Then came the flag retrieval zone, dozens of red flag planted among randomly scattered traps and pits. Each runner had to grab one before continuing.

Dressa slid into the field with practiced ease, weaving through traps like she’d memorized the layout. Maximus dove, rolled and snagged a flag, landing in a crouch just as a trap door snapped shut behind him.

"Too close..."..

They bolted again, necks nearly even.

The final stretch was deceptive: it looked smooth, but every few meters hid a dip or incline, enough to twist an ankle or knock off your balance. Maximus could feel his legs screaming now, fatigue creeping in like a poison.

Dressa surged ahead slightly.

Her breaths were fast now, her arms pumping hard. The clean route curved to the right. The bumpy one was straight but full of hidden dips and surprise ridges.

Dressa took the curve.

Maximus didn’t.

He went straight.

The ground beneath him lurched, his foot dipped into a shallow pothole, and pain flared through his ankle. He grit his teeth and powered forward. The bumps slowed him, but the distance saved was precious.

From the corner of his eye, he saw Dressa closing the gap.

Ten meters, then five, then three. They lunged. Maximus dove forward, his hands brushing the finish line just milliseconds before Dressa’s foot crossed it.

The buzzer rang and the small crowd erupted into a frenzy.