MARATHON OF THE DEAD

The cheap six-dollar alarm clock rested on the nightstand near Skipper Gordon’s bed. At the pre-set time, it dutifully rang. Skipper slowly stirred, reached over and fumbled for the alarm button. The alarm continued to ring, albeit at decreased volume, as the spring wound down. Finally, he found success and the incessant ringing stopped. He looked at the iridescent numbers on the clock’s face. It was 6:30 a.m.

He was glad he had purchased his own alarm clock. He well remembered the time, several years ago, when he had an important job interview and had requested a wake-up call from the motel desk clerk. He was never called, and slept too late to make the interview. He vowed he would never again rely on someone else to wake him up.

A big day lay ahead. It was the first Saturday in September in the year 2002. It was the first home football game of the year and the University of Idaho was honoring its former athletes from the 1980s during halftime of the Montana State football game. Skipper “Skip” Gordon had been a record-setting swimmer during the 80s, and he felt honored to be invited back for the celebration, 15 years later.

A select group of 40 fellow athletes, representing all varsity sports, had been invited there, as well. They had arrived on campus at various times during the previous day. After arrival, as if by rote, they had migrated to Mort’s Club, where they had spent many hours as underclassmen. The Idaho Bloody Mary was still the featured drink at Mort’s. A pitcher of beer and tomato juice brought back memories of a simpler time. Skip had partied with his buddies until after 2 a.m. and he had a ferocious hangover. Today was the day of the football game, and many activities were scheduled.

Skip swung his long legs out from under the covers and sat on the edge of the bed. He rubbed the knuckles on his index fingers over his eyelids. His head throbbed. He was thirsty. He sat there for a moment contemplating whether he could grab another couple of hours sleep. After rejecting the urge, he stood up and staggered over to the dark purple drapes that covered his motel window. He jerked them open.

He stood there for a few minutes and watched the campus below emerge from the darkness. It was as though someone were turning up the dimmer-switch at a dinner party. The length of the shadows began to shorten until they almost disappeared. The large overhead streetlights illuminated the streets below but the convergent light of dawn enlarged the view to reveal the entire 980-acre campus and beyond.

Skip shuffled into the bathroom and grabbed a drinking glass from the shelf below the medicine cabinet. He fumbled with the thin plastic wrapper that enclosed the glass. Finally, the glass came free and he eagerly drank two glasses of the lukewarm liquid. It was not the best-tasting water, he remembered, but it helped to ease his thirst.

He looked in the mirror, frowning at what he saw. He needed to shower and shave fast, as he and his fellow athletes were scheduled to have a welcoming breakfast at 7:30 a.m. at the Holiday Inn.