Jake the Temp Triathlete

tired runnerJake looked despairingly at the other runners passing him as he ran up the side of the hill.  Did he really take the last three weeks off, giving up that plum assignment at the law firm, to finish out of the top ten in his age group?  He bet none of these juiced up motherfuckers were going to have to go groveling back to the agency on Monday promising that this was the last time they were going to quit an $18/hr assignment to prepare for a race.   It seemed like the extra time had paid off, too, for the first two legs.  He stuck with the pack in the swim, drafting off the leaders and saving his legs for the bike when he would really need them.  He got ahead of almost everyone, confident that he could hold them off for the twelve mile run.  He always felt more comfortable being the chased rather than the chaser.  He loved knowing people were gunning for him – made him feel like a fleet footed fox or some other crafty hunted animal as he ran, pursued by bloodhounds.  Maybe I should translate that thought to some professional career, he thought glumly as yet another competitor blew by him.  That’s probably how rich people feel about making investments or flow charts or whatever it is you do when you get above all the temp-level activities like phones and finding the best kind of paper to make table tents for the next board meeting.  He looked ahead and saw the gap between him and the leaders only widening.  His legs grew heavier with each stride, and he was starting to feel that awful weight of helplessness weigh down on him again.

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