“Come on Liz! You’ve got this!” Rich clapped her on the back, sliding in next to her in the stands. “You’ve been training non-stop for years. Now all you’ve got to do is put that hard work to use. Tell me, who out there can even hold a candle to you?”

Elizabeth Sayler took a deep breath, rolling her eyes in spite of herself. “You know it’s not about the competition, Rich. I need to do this —”

“Yeah, yeah. You need to run against the clock, not anyone else in your heat. I just wanted to give you a bit of a pep talk, you know?” The young man offered her a water bottle, grinning.

“Hah, sure.” She accepted it, taking a small sip and checking her smartwatch for her pulse. 70 beats per minute. Quite high, considering she hadn’t warmed up yet.

Rich poked her, drawing her attention back to him. “Hey. After you finish dusting these people, Sarah and I are going to take you out to celebrate.”

“Nooo. I’m going to be way too tired for any of that,” Liz groaned, turning away from him.

She could already imagine the two of them dragging her off for a shopping spree, and she shuddered at the soreness she would feel the next morning. She ran 80 miles a week regularly, and those all-day treks through the mall still hurt her feet.

“It’ll be a restaurant.”

He practically sang that last word, and she perked up, turning back to him with wide eyes. “All you can eat?”

He winked at her, running a hand through his curly brown hair. “You deserve it, after all this ‘optimal nutrition’ stuff you’ve been following this season.”

“Now that’s something I can get behind.” She would need to replenish her glycogen stores after running, and an array of delicious, carb-loaded, sauce-drenched food sounded a lot better than cooking up three bowls of bland, store-bought pasta.

“I mean seriously! Who eats plain chia seeds for breakfast? I think you’re the only one on the team that actually followed that diet.”

“What was that about not following my diet?” A stern female voice sounded out behind them, and Rich jumped.

“U-uh nothing, coach!” He gave Liz a mischievous grin, slipping away before the middle-aged woman came close.

“He’s right, you know.” Coach Brown absently tapped her pen on her clipboard, surveying the current race even as she sat next to her. “You’ve practiced harder than anyone this season, and you deserve a long rest after all of this is over. I know that you’ve been extra careful about avoiding injury, but physical exhaustion isn’t the only thing an athlete has to combat.”

Liz silently cheered as their top freshman stumbled over the finish line, going off to the side and nearly knocking over a pile of brand-sponsored boxes. “Huh. He’s really improved, hasn’t he? You think he’ll be setting any records?”

The coach shook her head, once again glancing at her clipboard. “He’s good, sure, but he doesn’t hold a candle to you. The only reason he’s even made it this far is because his work ethic is impeccable. At this level, work ethic only gets you so far, though…”

Liz frowned. The kid was only fourteen, and he had plenty of room to grow. Still, the coach had a point. As much as she hated to admit it, without her genetics, she would have never made it this far. She liked to think of it as her parents’ last gift to her before passing.

Coach cleared her throat, bringing her back to the present. “But anyways, let’s talk about your race. Hydration?”

Liz nodded, bringing up her smartwatch once more. She tracked all her water and food intake on it, as well as her sleep and her emotional state. Currently, it had her at 99% performance.

“Oh, I forgot you have that fancy new watch. Sure does come in handy, doesn’t it?”

She chuckled, taking another sip of water. “You can get the same app on your phone for free. This is just easier and more accurate, though that isn’t saying much.”

One of her biggest wants was a watch whose stats were actually representative of her, and not just some rough approximations based on averages.

“Whatever. Sometimes I just need some good ol’ fashioned pen and paper. But your race.”

“Right. My race.”

She bit her lip, looking back at the track.

She was running in the fastest heat of the biggest race in the country, surrounded by people who had been trained since birth to compete. Local and state prodigies were sent from all across the continent to this one meet, just in for a tiny chance of attracting the attention of the best recruiters in the nation. Top colleges and professional teams swarmed the stands, and the past three times she had run here, she had spoken to more than a few Olympic recruiters.

Everyone was vying for a higher place, because doing good here meant that they could do anything they wanted. Schools would practically shower them in money, and if they wanted to, anyone who proved themselves could head straight to the pros. Getting so much as top three meant that you were drowning in opportunities, and if you got first, you were practically set for life.

She wasn’t aiming for first.

Ever since her sophomore year, she could win even these races without breaking a sweat. She was already enrolled in the best college in the US, and they had offered her enough in scholarships that she would be able to graduate debt-free.

She had no need for the barrage of letters from Yale, Duke, or Oxford, and she was already on first name basis with all the coaches of the national team. If that was all that she was working for, she would have stopped working a long time ago.

No, she was aiming far higher.

Nearly three decades ago, her mother had set the national junior record for the 800 with a time of 1:59.87. She had then gone on to win ten Olympic medals, and if she hadn’t settled down with her fellow olympian, Liz’s father, she could have won far more.

… And if it weren’t for the plane crash that had taken both of their lives, they would have been here cheering her on.

1:59.87. That was the time that she had to beat. To prove that she was their daughter, that she could keep their legacy living. And this season, she had practiced as perfectly as she could, with all her diagnostics pointing to her ability to crush that time.

Despite that, though, her voice still caught at the coach’s question. “Everything is in my favor, but…”

“Life always finds a way to surprise you.” Coach Brown finished her thought, patting her on the back. “Let’s just hope that it’s a positive surprise.”

Liz nodded, and the woman stood, glancing down at her clipboard once more. “Well, I know that you can take care of yourself better than anyone. Good luck out there, and let’s make your parents proud!”

* * *

Liz finished the last of her drills, cracking her neck as she shed her warm-ups and stepped to the side of the track. Even more boxes of sponsored items had arrived just minutes ago, and she briefly wondered whether they’d block her view of the clock when she ran down the final stretch. Many athletes preferred to not know their times until they passed the finish line, but she found that she raced better when she knew exactly how she was doing.

Then, a pair of hands grabbed her shoulders, and she stumbled forwards.

“Lizzie, you’re just five minutes out from setting a new national record!” Sarah bounced up and down, pulling out her phone to snap a photo. “Gotta remember this moment!”

Liz laughed, pushing the girl away. “Hey, you don’t know that. Life always finds a way to surprise you — I could totally fall on my face and embarrass myself.”

“Right, like the great Elizabeth Sayler’s going to lose a race by tripping. By the way, once you’re done wiping the floor with these guys Rich and I —”

“Yeah, yeah. He already told me. We’d better not be going shopping afterwards, though.”

“Oh come on Liz! You only get to be a crazy teeny who’s unburdened by the monetary drain of adulthood once! Plus, with all that money your college is giving you, you can afford to be a little liberal with your spending.”

Liz hit her over the head with an empty water bottle, giving a huff. “Nope. Going to be way too tired for that, and I am not going to wake up tomorrow as stiff as a board.”

“Fine, fine. I was just teasing. Perfect conditions, yeah?”

“That’s one thing we can agree on.” It was 64.7 degrees out, sunny, and without a trace of wind. Spring was in full bloom, and luckily for her, she didn’t have any pollen allergies to hinder her performance. Combined with her optimized nutrition and the excellent night’s rest she had had last night, it truly felt like the stars were aligned in her favor.

Well, at least it would have, if Occam’s razor didn’t come into effect. She had fully planned that last part, and the meet directors would have purposefully chosen a day that would be perfect for running. At such a high-level meet, everyone wanted the conditions to be ideal. Still, it almost felt better this way, like she was in control of her destiny.

The whistle for last call blew, and Sarah waved her off, phone out and ready to record her race. “Good luck!”

“Thanks. Keep that camera away from me when I collapse on the ground after finishing, alright?” Liz took her place a few steps away from the starting line, shaking out her legs. Seven other girls were spread across the lanes, but she had lane four, the mark of the race favorite. She could do this.

“Alright, it looks like everyone is here.” A man in a striped shirt raised his hand, pointing the starting gun in the air. “Attention all runners! This will be a two command start.”

She had heard this speech a million times already, so she used her last few seconds to prepare her mind. 1:59.87. That was the time she needed to beat.

“When I say on your marks, you will take two steps forwards and position yourselves at your startling lines. Please make sure that your foot is entirely behind the line, or you will be disqualified. When everyone is still and in control, I will fire the gun, and you may start. Are there any questions?”

The field was silent. She did three light jumps on the balls of her feet, feeling her muscles stretch and flex with the motions. She was ready.

“On your marks!”

She stepped up to the line, taking a deep breath in and out. Her muscles were tensed like springs, ready to explode out at any moment. This was it. This was her final chance at the record. Years of training had led up to this moment, and —

The gun went off, and she blasted from the starting line.

As the runner in lane four, she was meant to start out behind half the others and slowly make her way up as the curve of the track extended their distance. Then, as the track evened out, they would pass a set of cones, signifying that they could merge together onto the innermost lane.

Instead, just seconds after she started, she had already accelerated past the competition. Her arms pumped steadily at her side, and her rapid strides ate up the length of the track, pushing her to a breakneck pace.

And, as she blew past the first 50 meters, she let her lips curve into a smile. Despite her rapid acceleration, her breathing was still controlled and rhythmic, the result of thousands of miles run over the course of countless seasons.

She passed the cones signifying the switch into the first lane, but she was already so far past her competitors that all she could hear was their hurried footsteps as they desperately tried to catch up with her. She was sure that some of them would be thinking that she had gone out too fast, and that she would burn out by the second lap. That couldn’t have been further from the truth.

The crowds cheered, and she sprinted down the track, passing her first loop in 1:00.52. If she ran that pace for the full race, she would run the same time that she had achieved last year, nearly a second off of record pace.

But she just grinned. While traditional runners always ran their second lap slower than the first, she had never liked that strategy. Instead, she like to negative split.

She quickened her pace once more, and despite there being no wind, the air whipped past her face as she ran down the curve. She was halfway there.

Worries that something would go wrong flashed in the back of her mind, but she shoved them aside. Everything was lining up now, with only 300 meters to go.

Then 200. Then 100.

Her legs burned with lactic acid, but she kept her pace, keeping her gaze locked on the clock. A stack of boxes obstructed her vision, but she quickly ran past them, pulling every ounce of energy she could get from her legs.

1:44.80, with just under 100 meters to go.

She was going to make it! Her chest heaved with the effort, but she pushed herself one final time, pumping her arms as fast as she possibly could. This was it. This was how it felt to break a national record!

Then, she crossed the 50 meter mark, and a thundering blast of fire shook the earth, sending her tumbling to the ground.

Hot blood spilled from her legs as the rough track scraped her skin raw, and she looked up just in time to see a man-sized piece of shrapnel shoot straight for her torso.

* * *

Liz sat up in the dark, heart pounding in her chest. Phantom pains burned the entire left side of her body, and she shuddered, reaching for her phone on the bedside table. It was okay. She was okay.

The dim light of her screen calmed her, and she checked the time, praying that it was close to morning.

1:59 AM, exactly three years after the bombing.

Had she really dreamt of it again? She hadn’t had one of those in months, and she had thought that she had finally gotten over it.

Of course she hadn’t.

She sighed, running a finger along the red, puffy scars that still plagued her skin. Three years since that tragic incident. And she had been just fifteen seconds away from greatness…

Longing and regret filled her, and she hauled herself into her wheelchair, wiping a stream of tears from her cheek.

She wouldn’t be able to get back to sleep tonight.