Chapter 16

"Grandmama, this is my friend Dahlia," I introduce her with caution, but I needn't bother. Dahlia steps in and swoops her up in a long deep hug that envelopes my grandmother's frail old bones in a wrap of warmth, and I know she is instantly bathed in the electric heat of what it feels like to be in Dahlia's presence.

"Thank you for the television wizardry you did for me. It was very kind of you. The nice gentleman even helped me record it. Watched her win that race at least five times this week." My Grandmama smiles and I blush.

"Just the heats," I correct her, "I still need to win the race today."

We are at the family and friends' enclosure; I had made my own way to the track with Andy for last-minute prep and strategy talk. Grandmama had taken a private car sent by Dahlia, but Dahlia had made her own way incognito so as to try and not draw attention to the fact she was here.

I could see her a mile away—no dark clothes, sunnies, or dark Nike cap could hide her distinctive body and smile, but it seemed to be working. People were not exactly expecting a Hollywood movie star at the women's European athletics 10k final.

The next hour passes for me in a blur. I have to switch off from my thoughts of Dahlia. I can't process that she and my Grandmama are sitting together, talking, chatting, watching from the sidelines. I have to focus. This is my dream. This is what I have worked for for so many years.

It is different to run in a stadium. For me, it is the best way to compete in a final. The adrenaline the crowd gives you is unparalleled. When you are street running, you see the pavements lined with supporters but your loved ones only get a glimpse. For only a few seconds, you can hear them; you listen for their tone, their voice through the cheers and it gives you a huge push.

In the stadium, you can't single them out, but you know they are there the whole time. You can feel their eyes on you, following every step that you take. For some people, they zone that out, it brings nerves and pressure and deflects from the focus needed to win.

But today I felt empowered, bolstered by the fact that the only two people in the world that I loved were here, together, side by side, watching me.

I complete my testing, go through the pre-race checks and make my way to the start line. Running a 10k is 25 laps around the stadium. It doesn't seem so many… but it is, I will feel every grueling second.

We line up with no real order. It is always the way in the longer distance races. Take a spot on the line then fall into the inner curve. The gun goes and I feel the bang vibrate through my bones, but I am moving instantly without a thought.

I find the rhythm. The place in my mind to retreat to. It is all I can do now—let my race instinct kick in whilst I follow the race strategy. I am confident in my stride and keep my body tight as I make my way to the front pack. This first lap is crucial in sitting in the right position and I find it perfectly.

My coach was right. The group is bigger this time. Eleven of us and I am sitting on the edge around sixth. It has its advantages. I am less likely to be clipped, I am not trapped in the inside. But for every lap, I run further than the others and that will catch up with me quickly. So, I have to keep on the heels of Leticia and force her to keep a faster pace so that the punishing early speed will make a few drop off.

The pace is intense. I feel the burn from the third lap. Sweat runs down my body and glistens on my skin as I feel my Lycra slicken with perspiration. But I keep up, I keep the push on Leticia, and she responds. She wants that gold too and she tries to outpace me, make me falter early so she can breeze across the line.

But, I want it more. This time around I want it more than I ever have. I don't want to be the ‘nearly' athlete anymore.

The pace is blistering and the pack segments. Eleven becomes eight, and then by the fifteenth lap we are down to six. It is unheard of for this distance. We are running a race of unknowns. Leticia begins to falter and I think she knows she can't hold on. She slows, but it is too early for me to take the lead according to my plan. Too early for Leticia to fade according to everyone else's race plan too I imagine. There is a stumble, a moment of uncertainty. Heels are clipped, ripples of shock spread through the crowds, but I keep to my spot on the outer edge. There is a fall. I don't know who. I can't process. I just have to keep running. Keep going.

Jansen takes the lead. She is Dutch. A gold medal favorite, but I can tell it is a reluctant action from her to take the lead so early. She, too, is running the same race as me and she now has two options. Set a hard fast pace and shake the four of us that remain in the group with her, or conserve her energy and hope she has enough to outsprint us in the final two.

She does exactly what I would do in her position. Which I know my coach would scream at me for after. She goes for it.

She knuckles in, head down, pulling on those reserves to power ahead. The times we are running now must be well above European records. Even maybe World.

Lap 20 comes and goes and my body is utterly exhausted. The five of us become four. La Zorra for Spain drifts back and there is me, Jansen, Lavigne for France, and Ricci of Italy. Four nations battling it out now for three medals. Jansen has set an unforgiving pace; she has pushed us to the limits and now we all can only slow.

I try and settle into the new rhythm and let my body find that reserve that I should still have. I know the tactic, break away ahead with 5 and a half laps to go. But that is only 800m away and I don't know how much I have left in me. Will I have any speed left in me by that point? Will it be enough to outpace the others? I start to whizz through the possible scenarios in my head and in all of them I feel the gold and silver slipping away. I make a choice to save my push for when there are 2 laps left to go.

As I approach two laps to go, I'm flagging, but I know I must do it. This is my time. I won't get another. I know it. My coach knows it. Even Grandmama knows it in her heart; it is why she is here. And I have to do it.

Not for Dahlia, though I feel her eyes on me with every step I take.

This is for me and for my Grandmama.

I have to do it for the woman who has always believed in me, who invest her entire life in giving me all she could…

The moment my toe hits the white line with two laps to go. I push.

I have two laps left. 800metres.

I storm ahead of Jansen. I don't know who breaks away with me. I feel the air behind me, though, the relentless pad of shoes on track and I know I am not alone. I want to look back, to see how many have come with me. How close they are. To see the pain in their eyes to know if they can keep up with me, if they want it as much as I do.

The meters count down and I run. I run like I have never run before, and I reach the white line again and the bell chimes. The crowd is on its feet; they have waited for this, the final lap. And I use that energy to push and push.

I feel the brush beside me. Ricci is there, but I have the advantage until the home straight; she has to take the wider corner or power ahead to overtake me, and I can see she is faltering. We are both running on nothing except I am on the inside with the advantage and I take it.

I stride longer, I gain those all-important inches whilst I can. I don't want to bank on her not having the energy for a finish on the straight. I power around the inside. I don't even feel the burn or the ache now. I am delirious, pushing myself to the absolute maximum.

The home stretch. The final straight.

She is there on the outside but that doesn't matter now. We both have 100 meters to go.

We both have the chance. It is ours. Gold or Silver.

I am sure at that moment I hear the two women who love me shouting me home. Maybe it is an illusion. My brain telling me what I need to hear. But I can feel the screams from their lips. My name on their tongues. Love for me in their eyes. I run. I run so hard I feel like my legs will fall off. Like my lungs will give in. As though my heart will stop.

I don't even know. I can't process. I speed past the line and it takes me a second to stop. For my brain to comprehend that it is over, that I have finished my race.

I look up at the board and I wait. It takes an age. I can't breathe even though my body has stopped, my limbs like jelly, and then it flashes on the billboard and the crowd erupts.

Gold: Sharpe Alexa

Gbr

NEW WORLD RECORD 29:00.03*

I feel my legs give from under me, but before I reach the floor, arms scoop me up. A haze of red hair, pale skin, and adoring kisses. She covers me, holding my exhausted frame as she showers me in love.

"Alexa! You did it!" she screams. "You won! You are the fastest in the world! Oh, my goodness, I can't believe it. You were incredible!" She gushes and I smile at her infectious euphoria. Turning, I see Andy and Grandmama making their way over. Slower, but I see they have just as much happiness and pride.

"Oh, Alexa," Grandmama says and bursts into tears. Dahlia lets me go from her embrace but her fingers stay firmly laced with mine as I pull my grandmama in tight for a long hug.

"I am sorry, I am so sweaty," I pant and she laughs.

"I am so proud of you. Your mom and dad must be screaming somewhere and bursting with pride. Oh, honey, you were amazing."

"Alexa, you need to go for your final check-in," Andy says with a smile, and I reluctantly untangle myself from hugs.

"How did I do, coach?" I ask with a wry smile and he offers me the biggest of compliments he has ever given me.

"You did the best in the world, Alexa."

I get through the post-race procedures in an absolute daze and I am riding cloud nine. Without the officials, I am not sure I would even be in the right place. Andy is in his element. The sponsorships will come now. The deals. The prize money. The international paid-for meets. Olympics. Worlds. The doors just opened to a world-record-holding athlete.

I can't keep up with who is who so I don't bother to try. I just let each congratulation wash over me and I live in that moment. In that second.

If I hadn't… If I had been more alert… more observant of the world around me, I may have noticed the turn in the tides. The change of direction. But I was oblivious.

I emerge from the official area, showered, changed, and able to just about walk again, and make my way to the family enclosure. I have never been a winner in a race so big so as I feel the flash of cameras and the surge in attention from the media corner I bask in it, bathe in the attention as tomorrow my win would only be yesterday's news.

It is Andy who notices first. But not quick enough.

I hear the call of my name; the beckoning of a Sky reporter and I make my way over. Prepared to answer about my tactics, about how it felt to be a winner, who I wanted to thank, my inspiration. I don't process the question at first. But I feel the scramble of movement. Eyes on me. Shouts from the press

"Dahlia Dante…"

"How long…"

"Lovers?!"

"An Item…"

"Is it true that…"

"Are you gay? Is Dahlia Dante gay?"

I falter, my entire face changes. I stutter and I can't find my words. How do they know? What will Dahlia think? I didn't tell anyone. I spin on the ball of my foot and search for her. I spot her instantly with Mr. Suit, head down, cap in place, glasses on, being ushered out of the stands.

My grandmama is in shock, unsure what is going on around her as security piles in for Dahlia. I see them push by her and I feel angry, heat rises, who do they think they are?

I turn from the reporters and make my way to the enclosure.

"Grandmama! It's okay!" I call but she can't hear me. "Hey! Get out of my way!" I shout at some guy in a suit standing in my path trying to keep me from the pathway up.

"Sorry, ma'am. I can't let you through at this time for security reasons."

But my rational senses have gone and I start to push through.

"Yes, I know because that is Dahlia Dante up there with my Grandmama. Now. Let. Me. Through."

I push and push against him but he is an immovable object. Unwilling in any way to let me through as the commotion breaks out all around us. The reporters have seen Dahlia and they swarm over, the lights flash, the calls and shouts echo. My eyes dart between her and my Grandmama who is sitting back in her seat but she looks deathly pale.

I can't see Dahlia's face from the angle but the stadium screen shows her in full view as she tries to escape, hiding herself the best she can but failing on all accounts.

A reporter pushes through the barricade and gets to her. His voice is loud and clear and it echoes in my brain.

"Dahlia! Are you in a lesbian relationship with newworld record holder Alexa Sharpe?!"

She pauses and the camera pans. It catches her mid-thought and I see it. A whirl of emotions. The possibilities that flash through her mind.

She could end this now; she could be true to herself and start the next chapter of her life free from lies and hiding who she is. I don't need to be locked away in her penthouse. We would have a chance. A real chance at a future together.

I reach for her with all of my being, mentally telling her it will be okay, that we can do this, she can do this. She has me. She leans into the microphone and I wait with bated breath.

"Oh honey," she says with a drawl, in a tone I barely recognize. "I don't date the wait staff."