Page 1 of Your Pace or Mine
Chapter 1
Darius
16 weeks to the London Marathon
It wasn’t that Darius felt he was above pandering to the selection committee. It was more… Okay, it wasexactlythat.
“You have to do it,” Jackson said, his voice breaking the silence that had hung over the track since Coach Ellison floated his ridiculous idea. Even the usual hum of the city around them felt muted as Darius stared down his friend and coach. Ellison wanted Darius and Jackson to help coach at a clinic that Eric Anders, the newly appointed Head Coach for the Olympic marathon team, was organising for London Marathon runners with charity bibs. Anders running something like this smacked of performative activism. It was just the kind of virtue signalling bollocks that Darius hated.
The chill in the air, typical of January in London, matched the one crawling up Darius’s spine as they finished their cooldown. He knew Jackson was right. If he didn’t do something to improve his image, there was a real chance he wouldn’t make the Olympic marathon team this year.
Still.
“I don’t have to doshit,“ Darius snapped. He ran a hand over his hair. The close-cropped coils were still beading with sweat as the cold air rasped at his fingertips. “Selection’s meant to be based on accumulated points and competition results. It’s the one thing about this sport that makes bloody sense.”
“You know I’d never argue that Olympic selection shouldn’t be based on merit, Darius,” Coach Ellison sighed. “But Anders is pushing for team cohesion, and discretionary selection has always been on the table. The rest of the committee may come to bat for you, but you can’t rely on that.”
Discretionary selection. The two words that had been plaguing Darius since he first learned that Anders had been selected as Head Coach. Theoretically, the selectors, which unfortunately included Anders now, could use theirdiscretionto select between the athletes who met the Olympic standard, considering things like team dynamics or even more subjective things likereliabilityorrapport—as if there were any real metric to judge those by. It’s just that in previous years, that had all been very much theoretical, with the fastest runners always being put forward to give Great Britain the best shot at a medal in the marathon.
Darius was, without question, the fastest marathon runner in the UK. Yet, it still seemed it wouldn’t be enough. First-round selections were just over a month away, and Darius wasn’t feeling as confident as he should. Four years ago, he had narrowly missed the Olympic standard. Since then, he’d doubled down on his training. Even his father had commented on his dedication, which was the closest thing to a compliment he’d received from the man in years. Now, no one in the country could rival Darius, and he knew it.
Anders knew it too. He just didn’t care.
Anders had never hidden his feelings about the Hewitt family, and they weren’t flattering. Darius could hardly blame him. Hisgrandfather’s fierce backing of Section 28 in the ’80s, the law that effectively erased queer lives from classrooms and libraries across the country, coupled with his father’s political passivity and eventual retreat from public life, had created a certain image of their family. It was an image that Darius desperately wanted to tear down, but he was terrified of the repercussions of being the one to do it.
For Anders, one of the only openly queer coaches in elite athletics, that history was personal. Now that he had the committee’s ear, he was using it, raising doubts about Darius’s character and politics, and how those might reflect on both the organisation and the country.
Complete and utter rubbish.
Ellison clasped a hand to his shoulder in a fatherly manner. “Think about it, Darius. This could be a good thing for you.”
With a parting wave to them both, Ellison jogged off towards the tube, likely heading home to his wife. Darius knew she had been on him about retiring and spending more time together. In some ways, it felt like Anders getting the Head Coach job was the first signal of Ellison winding down his career. Darius and Jackson were just waiting now for the day he’d announce they needed to find a new coach.
Finishing his last stretch and sinking down onto the damp grass next to Jackson, Darius was silent for a moment, contemplating the proposition.
“You really think this would be enough to convince the committee?” he asked.
Jackson shrugged. “Couldn’t hurt.”
Darius arched an eyebrow at Jackson. “The second the other runners hear my name, they’ll expect me to sponsor their charities.”
“Not everyone expects you to bankroll them, Darius.”
That earned him a loud scoff from Darius.
“What? It’s true. Anyone who expects that isn’t worth your time,” Jackson insisted.
“Virtually everyone expects that, Jax. They hear Hewitt, and their eyes light up with pound signs. Or worse, they start daydreaming about being titled.”
“Ok, yeah, that’s gross,” Jackson agreed. “Real talk, though? How do you expect people to see beyond your name when you don’t give even a tiny inkling of who you are?” Jackson asked. “You need to let people in.”
“I let people in,” Darius replied.
“Really, who?” Jackson crossed his arms as he waited for Darius to respond.
“Well, you, for starters. And Ellison and Selena.”
Jackson snorted. “So your sister doesn’t count, and Ellison’s known you since you were in nappies,” he argued. “And you know I just won you over with obnoxious persistence and good head.”
