Page 22 - Unlikely Stories 2

Asian Games

front-runners would be fairly obvious three-quarters of the way
through. I certainly wanted to give an accurate accounting of the
American team as they passed by. They weren’t the favorites, by any
means: several of the Africans had already won marathons elsewhere
with times that could beat any of our guys easily by several minutes.
A lot of countries, with no chance of winning, had entrants, anyway,
just to make a showing; their partisans would cheer on their runners
and wave little flags, so once the front-runners passed, it would be a
long stream of stragglers accompanied by sporadic nationalistic
outbursts. Some of the onlookers were so far back from the course
that all they could see was the track jersey, with the colors and the
number of the entrant. Being a credentialed journalist I was ushered
by the police right up to the barrier, so I had a very good view. I
think I was the only non-Chinese person there; at least I saw no other
foreigners nearby.
After a lot of standing around—I had to get there early, owing to
the traffic—the leaders approached, announced up the line by a lot of
noise. As expected, it was a small pack of Africans—a Kenyan, an
Ethiopian and maybe a Moroccan. I’d heard the rumor that they
would pace each other as soon as they were in front, to conserve
energy for the final sprint to determine the order of finish. So they
trotted past me, a serious set of pumping arms and legs in mechanical
rhythm, ready to do some serious competing once they rounded the
corner onto Beichen Road and hit a straightaway for the finish line in
the National Stadium. I quickly jotted a few notes, and looked up
again. A sudden roar erupted around me, like a maddened beast.
I’d forgotten which country was favored to be next, so I craned my
neck to see what the excitement was about. A single runner came
whizzing by at a speed I could not believe. It was faster than a
sprinter ever managed in a hundred-meter dash. As he ran, he was
pulling off his jersey to reveal a different one underneath. The
discarded shirt clearly belonged to China. I did not immediately
recognize the revealed one, but later realized it was the Tibetan flag.
And that guy was flying, let me tell you! I leaned out in the other
direction to watch him go by, but the crowd was surging around me,
and I was knocked to the ground. I tried to retrieve my notebook and
camera, but they disappeared. A policeman was on his radio next to

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