Going for Gold (standard:drama, 2413 words)
Author: Barndog44	Added: Aug 22 2002	Views/Reads: 3403/2425	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
An Olympic gold medal hopeful does the dirty on his coach and gets his come-uppance.

Click here to read the first 75 lines of the story

show surprising passion, but Pete doubted it, and always saw him as 
something of a ‘cold fish' 

“I wonder what things will be like when it's all over?” Pete said. 

“The Games?” 

“What else?” 

“Don't take anything for granted. There are some first-rate athletes in
there. Have you seen Richardson's form? And the Nigerian? And sometimes 
things don't go to plan for all sorts of reasons.” 

“Yeah, I've seen ‘em. I can take Richardson. He's got no finish.” 

“Maybe not, but sure as hell, he's got a bloody good start! If he gets
too far ahead, there's nobody in the world can catch him.” 

“Not even me?” grinned Pete. 

“Not even you!” 

Pete was puzzled and not a little troubled at the Jerry's odd mood.
Whilst Jerry had always been careful not to boost his ego too much, he 
had at the same time been mindful of the damage of the careless 
put-down. This was unchacteristic. Pete thought it best to change the 
subject. 

“Where are you taking Polly? Somewhere special?” 

“A little country hotel in The Lakes. Four star. Good food, nice walks.
The usual thing.” 

“How is Polly?” It was one of the less attractive traits of Pete's
qualities, he was the first to acknowledge, that he enjoyed living 
dangerously. 

“She's fine. But she needs a break. She's been a bit low these last few
months. I'm hoping it'll cheer her up a bit.” 

Pete thought he knew just why Polly had been low. It was being married
to a man far too old and unable to give her the things she needed. He 
glanced across at Jerry. He was almost old enough to be Pete's father, 
and he felt a little surge of anger, as he realised that Jerry would in 
all probability manage to hang on to what he didn't really deserve, and 
which he, Pete, could so easily take away if he really wanted. He was 
almost tempted to make it his next challenge after the Olympics. 

Pete's mind went back to the first time he and Polly had made love. It
was after the Gateshead meeting the previous year. Pete had come first 
in his event as usual, but Jerry had been laid low with a stomach bug, 
and he had generously suggested that Pete take Polly out to celebrate. 
It was a serious mistake as it turned out, and the pair had ended up in 
Pete's room after a quick burger and chips, instead of the slap-up 
dinner Jerry had suggested. 

Unusually in such a good-looking man in his prime, and as a result of
his total commitment to success whatever the personal cost, Pete had 
little experience of women, and Polly was his first real lover. For a 
brief moment after they made love on that initial occasion, and he 
realised just what he had been missing, he wondered if the sacrifice 
had been worthwhile. He quickly decided that running came first by a 
long chalk, but other pastimes maybe deserved some attention too, and 
in any case, as Jerry often said, a little of what you fancy does you 
good. 

Afterwards, Polly had been consumed with guilt, but not sufficiently so
to prevent her from continuing her affair with her husband's protégé, 
in snatched moments which she always saw as a little sordid, but Pete 
looked on as exciting. He sometimes wondered what the consequences of 
discovery might be, but whatever they were, the thought of being found 
out only added spice to the situation. 

Pete leaned back on the grass and closed his eyes, basking in the warmth
of the sun on that lovely June morning, and pictured himself, just a 
few short weeks away, climbing the rostrum to the applause of an 
adulating crowd. In his mind's eye he watched the union flag rising 
slowly up its pole to the strains of God Save the Queen, and could 
almost feel the texture of the medal on the ribbon round his neck as he 
fondled it lovingly. He saw his proud profile being watched on 
countless small screens all over the world, as just the hint of a tear 
trickled down his cheek. He imagined raising his arm in clenched-fist 
salute to acknowledge the thunderous roar of the crowd as the anthem 
drew to its close. 

He was roused from his reverie by a shock announcement. 

“I know about you and Polly.” Jerry made the statement in such a
matter-of-fact manner that it leant an air of unreality to what 
promised to be an all-too-real and dramatic situation. 

“What?” was all Pete could find to say. 

“You and Polly. I've known for a long time.” 

“You...know,” Pete was enough of a pragmatist to realise that denial
would be futile. 

“Ever since that night in Gateshead. I suspected then, but I didn't know
for sure until a few weeks later.” 

“How...How did you find out?” 

“I heard Polly on the phone one night when I got home from a training
session. She put the phone down quick when she heard me, and I knew 
something was suspicious from the tone of her voice. I dialled 1471. 
You should cover your tracks better, Pete, though I suppose it didn't 
occur to you that others might be as sharp as you are. You really are 
an arrogant bastard, aren't you?” 

“I....don't know what to say, Jerry.” 

“I'll say it for you. You're so sorry. You just couldn't help yourself.
Well, you're just sorry you got rumbled, that's all. Anyway, Polly's 
told me everything now. Without being prompted, too, I might add – I 
didn't have to tackle her about it. You see, Pete, there are people in 
this world who have finer feelings – you know, conscience, 
consideration for others, loyalty...And unlike you, Polly really is 
sorry. She said so and I believe her.” 

Pete was sitting up now, and he looked at Jerry who was studiously
avoiding his gaze. Though Jerry was obviously hurt and angry, Pete was 
amazed at the man's self-control. If it had been him, he would have 
gone beserk, and no doubt have put the guy in hospital for a spell. But 
Jerry seemed as calm as if he had been discussing the weather. It lent 
the lie to Polly's claim of hidden passion, that was for sure. 

“Look, Jerry. What are you going to do?” 

“Do? What do you expect me to do? What would you do if you were me?” 

“Jerry – we need each other. You and me, that is. We must win the gold.
We have to do this thing! If I promise...” 

“Promise? You, promise?” 

Jerry turned to look at him, and there was more in his eyes than just
hurt. It troubled Pete deeply. “ But of course, you're right. If the 
gold's to be won, we do need each other. But there are more important 
things in life that gold medals, you know Pete. Anyway, whatever you 
promise doesn't mean a thing because Polly has told me it's all over 
and she means it, I'm certain. In a way it's brought us closer 
together. I don't suppose you can understand that, can you?” 

Pete was at a loss for words. The one thing he couldn't take in was the
concept of something – anything – being more important than an Olympic 
gold medal.  Even money! Even Polly! The situation had to be salvaged 
somehow. “So where do we go from here?” he asked. “Can we carry on? We 
can, can't we? We must! I'll make it up to you, Jerry, I will, 
honestly. I'll win the gold for us.....for both of us!” 

“Carry on as if nothing happened?” said Jerry, raising one eyebrow. 

“Look, Jerry, what can I say? I'm really, truly, so sorry! I am!” 

“Is that so?” Jerry climbed to his feet, and said as though nothing had
happened, “OK. Run me a 60 second lap.” 

“Sure, Jerry. Anything you say.” 

Pete set off purposefully. Middle-distance runners could normally run
one-minute laps in their sleep. As he ran, his feet marking time as 
accurately as a metronome, he silently prayed, and wondered if 
providence might allow him get away with his misdemeanours. Maybe it 
was wishful thinknig, but it looked as though everything might be OK 
after all. Well, business was business, and perhaps Jerry was 
reluctantly admitting it to himself. But something at the back of his 
mind told him otherwise. 

Pete arrived back at the starting line. “Well?” 

“Your mind's not on it. That was nearly sixty-five. Do me another.” 

Pete set off again. This time he tried hard to concentrate, but it was
difficult. It was unusual for Jerry to ask him to run two laps one 
after the other. Still, he was the best coach around, and if Pete had 
learned anything during their partnership, it was that in matters 
relating to training, Jerry was could rarely be faulted, and it was 
wise to follow his instructions to the letter. 

When he got back, Jerry said, “That's a bit better. Sixty-three. Can you
do another?” 

“Another?” gasped Pete, then: “ I've already done a full fifteen hundred
and another two laps. OK, OK” he shrugged. “Ours not to reason why,” he 
muttered, and set off once again. 

At the end of Pete's third gruelling lap, he collapsed on the track.
Running an event where the ultimate prize was at stake was one thing, 
but punishing oneself so severely in training was not always advisable 
– especially at this late stage. Still, Jerry knew best. 

Jerry looked down at his prone figure and said, “Hmm. Still slow.
Sixty-three again. How do you feel, Pete?” 

“How...do you...think? Bloody... knackered!” 

“You couldn't do another, then.” 

“Leave...it...out!” Pete's chest was heaving fit to burst, and at that
moment, he felt that a one-legged man with a limp stood more chance of 
producing a sixty-second lap. When his breath had returned a little, he 
raised himself onto his elbows and said, “Anyway, Jerry. Seriously. You 
will help me to do it, won't you?” 

Jerry's back was turned to him, and he was fumbling in his sports bag.
As he spun round to face Pete's prone figure, he said, with an 
expression of hatred on his face which showed that Polly had been right 
about his hidden passion all along, “Help you? Win the gold? Your 
chance of that, my friend, is about as good as mine. And that's zero!” 
With that, he raised the baseball bat. 


Tweet