|
SHEILA FINCH MILES TO GO WHEELING UP TO THE START in the wintry dawn, he feels a dizzying rush of nervous excitement and spiking fear. He wills his bunching muscles to relax, hands --palms already hot in leather gloves --to unclench. He breathes deeply of cold, Pacific air, drawing in energy. He is the silent center of jittery activity. Wheelers lean toward each other, slapping warmth into cold arms. Women talk in brief spurts together, voices brittle. Stretching tight leg muscles. Waiting. Runners churn around him, a shimmering kaleidoscope against the city skyline. He recognizes many of them. Race gypsies, veterans from all the marathons across the nation and across the globe. He stretches his head from side to side, working on tension in his neck. A TV camera pans over to his lightweight, three-wheeled racing chair. Adrenaline floods. He raises two fingers in a victory sign. The silver eye pauses, sweeps on. Murmur of voices drops away. Two minutes and three seconds to go. The day was warm for early January, and the city seemed |
插件设计: zasq.net
本帖子中包含更多资源
您需要 登录 才可以下载或查看,没有帐号?立即注册
x
|