✅ My Sister's Problem

114. The Big Finish

A few seconds later, feeling the warm bulk of the diaper hugging my legs, I picked up speed again. Was I crazy? I seriously considered the possibility that I might be. But it didn't matter, because nobody else would know, and I would surely be able to finish the course faster than I ever had before. In the past, even the times I'd not needed to stop for a potty break had involved some discomfort towards the end of the race; I could guess that my kidneys were working extra hard because of the exercise or something; or it was just the extra water I was drinking to avoid dehydration. And I was sure that letting go here would impact my time less than struggling to hold it at the end of the race.

The next milestone was the crossroads again; where our course crossed itself to complete the figure eight. The complex cluster of bridges and roundabouts at that junction meant that as we passed, I could glance down at the runners who were moving along at a sedate pace below us. They hadn't even reached the clifftop path yet, so far behind, and I knew that many of them were treating it like a casual stroll, chatting as they went. They could be the people who'd been high school champions forty years ago, and still did the marathon every year for old time's sake. I didn't know, but I didn't begrudge them their participation medals. They were keeping fit and enjoying it, which was the real point.

I could see the town ahead of me, and this started to feel like the home straight. Of course it wasn't, as evidenced by signs indicating that the road to the beach was 1⅓ miles. But I knew that if I'd made it this far without trouble, I would be able to finish the race at least. And the diaper was getting more comfortable again. I could feel the weight on my hips, and the warmth against my skin, but I wasn't worrying about it now. I could run normally, and even admit that it felt good. I could be confident that it wouldn't come unfastened, or fall down under the weight of pee and leave me half naked or something.

It barely seemed like a few minutes had passed before we left the main road, and we were running along a dirt track that was slowly claimed by sand. We were on the beach now, taking a path through the dunes where the marshals had swept loose sand aside and stamped the ground down until it was packed solid enough to run on. That didn't last long, because we could get onto the boardwalk soon enough, and then we were travelling fast again. Not as fast as I had been the last time I was around here, but a good speed for running. Five minutes along the beach, and then I was on the same boards I had skated down earlier; two zig-zags took me part of the way up the cliff, but we were following the narrow path along the shore now, not climbing all the way to the top. Normally I might have taken a detour here to use the bathroom in that parking area, but today there was no need. I was as fresh as ever, but I still grabbed a bottle of water from the stall as I passed.

The town was to my right now, and there were lots of people cheering us on from the clifftops. And then the path opened out into a park, and curled round. I was climbing steadily, as the drop to my left was replaced by ornamental gardens, and trees appeared between me and the low cliff to my right. My legs felt the ascent, but were overwhelmed by my joy as the finish line came closer. And then I was turning right onto the old high street. I looked up, and for a second I wasn't sure if I saw Lindy painting on a balcony. Now I could put my head down and sprint, my legs protesting. And the archway was up ahead, with marshals and their cameras to capture the photo finish; making sure they knew who had finished when.

I crossed the line and considered taking a dive to the ground where I could gasp for breath. But perhaps I could have pushed myself a little harder, or started sprinting as we first entered the town again, because I realised I wasn't actually that tired. Instead I jogged in circles a little, to let my muscles wind down gradually.

"How many?" I asked, as one of the marshals came up to offer a congratulatory handshake.

"Twenty-nine," he answered. Twenty-nine people finished ahead of me. "That's a good showing. First under-eighteen finisher, too." He handed me a card printed out at the stall beside the arch, telling me my finishing time. A good four minutes less than my previous personal best. I was fitter this year, and I was sure I could attribute that to my basketball practice over the summer, teaching me to move quickly on my feet and dance around anybody who was in my way.