"Robert Reed - X-Country" - читать интересную книгу автора (Reed Robert)

I nodded and then consciously ignored his advice. My little Hyundai had a
piece of gold paper tucked under one wiper. тАЬFirst Annual Hill-Hell Run,тАЭ it read.
Unfolding it, I found the disclaimer and had a good laugh. Then I noticed the prize
money, and my first thought was that my slow-witted buddy was an exceptionally
bad proofreader.

тАЬOh, no,тАЭ he told me. тАЬThe amounts are correct.тАЭ

We were standing among the other finishers, watching the Sassafras Awards
being handed out. Smacking the entry form with a fingertip, I asked, тАЬDo you mean
this? Two hundred dollars cash for an age-group winner?тАЭ

He shrugged. тАЬI want runners at my starting line.тАЭ

тАЬOh, youтАЩre going to have them,тАЭ I said. тАЬAnd two thousand dollars for
winning the whole show?тАЭ

He flashed a big smile my way. Maybe IтАЩm remembering it wrong, but
something was lurking in those eyesтАФa sharpness revealed for a half-instantтАФand
then his expression instantly turned back to beach-boy simple.

тАЬTwo grand?тАЭ I repeated. тАЬWith prize money to tenth place?тАЭ

Shrugging, Kip pointed out, тАЬThere wonтАЩt be any double awards, so the
wealthтАЩs going to be shared.тАЭ

In other words, the top ten finishers, male and female, would be yanked from
age-group consideration. Of course two hundred dollars wouldnтАЩt make any
difference in my life. But the idea of winning that tidy sum for being the fastest
fifty-something ... well, it was a delicious promise. I was still grinning when the
Sassafras race director called out KipтАЩs name. Once again, he had won our
age-group, and for his achievement, Kip earned the privilege of walking up front to
receive a coin-sized medal dangling on the end of a cheap ribbon, plus a gift
certificate for fifteen dollars off his next pair of running shoes.

What made the moment memorable was the audience: A sudden silence
descended, followed by a few quiet whispers. Then the applause came, but it wasnтАЩt
the light, polite applause that follows pleasantly contrived moments like these. What I
heard was hard clapping accompanied by shouts, one of the young stallions
throwing his arms high in the air, calling out, тАЬKipper! Kip, my man! My buddy! Kip,
Kipper!тАЭ

****

My hip improved, and I started building my mileage again. But old bodies
donтАЩt relish sudden change or too much ambition. I sputtered in early September,
and then managed a brief recovery. But my comeback collapsed during the fifth mile
of the Classic 15K. My hip was screaming, and for the first time in thirty years, I
gave up, accepting a humiliating ride back to the finish line. The next morning, I saw