You’d just started running. You were about to kick some shins! QUINN: Right. There were seventy-seven runners in the race. And the trail was only a metre wide, so it was a traffic jam at first. All I could hear was the sound of seventy-seven pairs of sneakers slapping the dirt, and the sloshing of water in seventy-seven hydration packs, and the farts of seventy-six middle-aged long-distance runners. Luckily the pack spread out pretty quickly. The greyhounds zipped off, and the slowpokes fell behind, and soon we were all stretched out in a long, thin line. SYDNEY WATSON WALTERS: And how were you feeling? QUINN: Pretty good, except I had a knot in my stomach. Plus, I was still mad at Kneecap. SYDNEY WATSON WALTERS: Because of what she said to you? QUINN: Yeah. Fun vampire. It’s not exactly a compliment. Still, I was happy to be out there running. The sky was pink, and the air smelled of damp wood. The forest was full of all these golden stripes of sunlight. Tiny birds were zinging between the trees.
