The Cyclist [ChickLit 2013]

The Footage

At eight-thirty, the congregation gathered back into the sanctuary and returned to their seats. The lights outside dimmed, leaving only the populated area lit. Sara’s parents took Ben aside and asked him if he could continue.

“I’ll be fine, we’re almost near the end; as long as I have water I should be fine,” Ben assured.

“Thank you so much for doing this again,” Mr. Dawson acknowledged, shaking Ben’s hand. He gave him a hollow clap on the back and sent him onto the stage for his last talk.

Adjusting his glasses and smoothing the front of his suit, Ben smiled politely at the crowd and took a seat on a bar stool. Taking the microphone in his hand and toying with the ear piece, he turned the device on. He tapped the head lightly, sending a static around the room, and brought it to his lips.

“Hello again, everyone, thank you for joining us for the last part of Sara’s dedication—it means so much to all of us that so many of you showed up. We just came back from the hospital and Sara is doing well. She can say a few sentences and squeeze lightly, which is more than what she could do last week.” Ben paused and took a large gulp from his water. Placing it back on the floor, he resumed. “If some of you don’t know, Sara was diagnosed with amyotrophic lateral sclerosis, also commonly known as, motor neuron disease. It basically is a disease that causes muscles to deteriorate over time. For Sara, they said it would be four-years she had to live,” smiling, Ben said in a brighter tone, “but so far, she’s beating it.”

The room ignited into a roar of applause and whistling. Some people stood up, others cried in happiness.

“We are all very blessed and thankful to know that she’s still with us.” Ben stopped to catch himself from crying as well.  “You see, I didn’t know Sara when they first started seeing the symptoms, so I missed the Sara most of you knew. But, as it was told, Sara was riding her bike on the track and suddenly lost control and tumbled. Thankfully, she called a friend that picked her up. Her parents took her to the hospital and the news was exposed.

“Sara later told me that when she heard the news, she was completely shocked, but wasn’t afraid or angry. I don’t know how she could think that way; I would’ve been very angry and sulked for years. But not, Sara, she took it like a champion and continued to train and ride and it was her first year as a patient did I meet her.” Another smile lit up the boy’s race at the vivid memory of meeting Sara. Not breaking his smile, he continued, “I met her at a swing dance club. You see, I’m more British than American so, I wasn’t fully educated on what ‘swing dancing’ was until a couple of my mates from school invited me to come join them. Anyway, I didn’t want to be a spoil-sport, so I went somewhat unwillingly. When I got there, I was told I was to basically go around and ask girls to dance with me.

“I prowled the floor, picking and choosing, but none caught my eyes until I saw Sara. She was standing in a circle of friends, laughing and playing with her hair. I definitely didn’t let this chance go to waste, so I broke in on their conversation, offered my hand, and we danced. We didn’t talk much—mostly shouted at each other over the music – but, oh! It was the best shouting conversation ever! It was right after that I begged my friend, Bob, to invite me again. And so, for that whole year, I went swing dancing so that I could just ask Sara. We hung out more during the week and got to know one another very well. At the time, I wasn’t a Christian and she was, so, we had a lot of ‘discussions’ that almost wrecked out friendship. But, I suppose God didn’t want us to be separated.

“By the second year, I asked her to be my girlfriend. By then, she was using one crutch, or a cane, to get about. She could still ride, but not very fast. I think that what frustrated her most of all because she knew she was capable in her mind, but her body was against her. I made sure to be out with her whenever she rode, and each time, got a little more frustrating and little more dangerous. At one moment, she veered the wrong way and went down a hill – not a very steep one – but she had no control. I had to race down and scoop her off before she took a spill. After that, we tried to convince her that she shouldn’t anymore.

“I think that’s when Sara finally broke. She threatened to do awful things to herself and swore she would stop therapy and never ride again. But, she knew she was just angry, and after she settled, she told us she needed to accept her condition and realize that her racing days were over. But as she told us this, I knew she was just trying to convince herself – I knew she had one more race in her. The video I’m going to show is her final race. She was nineteen when she was diagnosed, in the video she’s six months away from turning twenty-one. So, this is footage from 2008.”  Ben looked up at the screen projected behind him and waited for the buzzing of the film to start.

The white screen blinked and flashed, and before long, a news clip began to play. The video opened with the sounds of screaming people and a loud announcer, shouting the details of the race. A black 5 mile track was in view, showing the racers from behind so that their numbers could be seen. Sara was number 15 and, out of the other twenty racers, was in the twentieth place. Though the footage was blurry, it was still clearly shown Sara’s weakening control as her bike wobbled back and forth, meeting the rail every five seconds. She was seen wearing arm and leg braces, but those didn’t help with her speed.

The footage was painful to watch to those who knew Sara’s lightning fast speed, and seeing her struggling to keep her feet on the peddles, sent some visitors sobbing out of the room. The clip cut to close-up of Sara from the front, her face contorted in determination and every working muscle in her body rippled and stretched as she threw all her strength into her bike. Audio from the speaker came through the footage in a tone as clear as when it had been first announced:

“Ms. Sara Dawson, three time cyclist winner in North Carolina, was diagnosed with motor neuron disease in 2006. Though the race isn’t in her favor, her spirit on the track is ten times stronger than the person in first. She is demonstrating true bravery and courage right now – and though we can expect the outcome, we know she won’t leave the track without a fight!”

After that declaration, Sara’s bike flipped and she was thrown several feet onto the concrete. The crowds all gasped, hands to their hearts and heads, as they watched the fallen champion stagger to her knees. The other bikers fled past her, some even shouting mockery at her as they passed by. Referees and a medic team sprinted to the field.

“Looks like Number Fifteen, Sara Dawson, won’t be completing the race. Referees and a medic team will aid—wait, we have another person entering the track.  It looks like Sara’s boyfriend, Ben Keating, isn’t going to let her leave the track! He’s helping her to her feet, sitting her on the handle bars while he takes the seat.”

The clip zooms in Ben mounting the bike and letting Sara sit on the handlebars. She leaned back, resting her back on Ben’s shoulder, and clutched her hands and feet. Ben kicked off the ground with one foot and began pumping the bike back to life. The spectators burst into excited whoops and hollers, and just like every crowd had done whenever Sara raced, they chanted her name all the way through the finish line. Though Sara finished last, everyone knew who the real champion was—and no one forgot that day.

The footage faded and the attention was brought onto a teary-eyed Ben. Laughing softly he said, “They cut this bit out, but right after, I proposed to her. She’s my wife now, and that was the best day in my entire life. And, I’ll end this on that beautiful victory.”

The audience in the church stood and clapped for him and Sara as he exited the platform. People closest to him shook his hands, hugged him, and spoke kind words over him. As he made his way down the line, Mrs. Dawson came up behind him and whispered in his ears,

“Ben, I just got call, Sara isn’t doing well.”