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These days, when the sun is setting and the long shadows of the academy's main building drape over the training grounds, McQueen is the only one left there. The sound of her rhythmic strides both drowned out in the vastness of the field, yet also deafening, as the metal cleats hitting the well-trodden turf disturb the otherwise silent track.
She finishes her last round and fetches her belongings while the day hangs on to the twilight. Even with the sparse lighting of the academy at this hour she would find her way around no problem, having rounded the course countless times. Familiar as it all might be, running in these conditions is just inviting injury. The lighting conditions are enough reason to stop, but not the only reason. As the sun sets, it casts an unseasonal coolness over the stone and brick of the academy McQueen has only become aware of a few weeks ago, avoiding it ever since.
As spring draws towards its end the outdoor facilities of the academy become busier. Many important races are held during this time and runners are eager to get some more training in under the wire. Combined with the longer daylight this turns the lights in the gym and staff building into people on and beside the track — though McQueen always remains last one there in the end. She tries to stay focused on her laps, but can't help catching snippets of their conversations. Excitement for strong newcomers, the pain of defeat, laments over the absence of established runners and news of newly retirees. Reeling her attention back in every time. Focusing on the goal netted her the win at her return race and giving her full attention to training now will net her the next at the grand prix. If she can block out the voices and look only at her goal she can do it.
-
In the moment the gate snaps open like a gunshot her mind fills with only one word:
‘Run’
No space is left for other thoughts, for they might cost her the win. Cost her the things beyond it that she won't allow herself to think about right now. The rain beats heavily into her face and blocks her vision, taking everything but the railing beside her and the ground right in front of her with it. The drumming of her heartbeat and the stomping of metal against turf boom in her ears and brain. Inhales fight against the blood coursing up her neck. She runs and runs. Lightheaded, her limbs heavy as they pull her body forward towards the corner, towards the straight, past any hill and opponent.
The long protracted battle of mind and body against the trampled grass beneath her feet ends as abruptly as it started. As she crosses the finish line with no one in front of her, the atmosphere at Hanshin Racecourse crashes back down on her. Bathed in the audience's cheers and the announcer's voice calling out her name again and again, McQueen slowly becomes aware of the world outside the track, the air filling her chest, the burning of her leg muscles. She did it. She won. A smile breaks through her tired panting and she waves to the crowd, sweat and rain trickling down her cheeks.
-
Even after her win McQueen’s extended training regimen continues — other races were to come after all — always capped off by the cold off of the bricks as she passes the main archway. One evening something compels her to stop and reach her hand out towards it. The worn bricks drain the heat from her fingertips as soon as she makes contact. The warmth she worked up over her training practically erased in an instant. It makes her feel unsatisfied. She looks towards the gate and the lights of the dorms beyond and takes a deep breath in. Her lungs feel light and her body feels hollow from training. There is an ache somewhere in her chest as she holds the cool evening air in. A restless feeling she couldn't sweat out even with the hard training. She exhales, the depleted air dry against her lips.
Opening up her dufflebag, she puts her running shoes back on and sets off. Past the gate. Past the Funny Honey stand. Through the streets, illuminated all the while by shops and streetlights. Posters and billboards of racers cover the walls and fill the displays of stores she passes. She knows the smiles and determined looks on many of them first hand. One in particular she is very familiar with. A pair of purple eyes, looking towards a goal that has moved further and further into the distance, a gaze hanging onto a connection struggling not to get lost in the haze of the horizon.
The city lights in blurry drops obscure her vision as tears gather in the corners of her eyes. Her throat hurts not from the exertion, but from the feelings daring to burst out of her. She runs and runs until none of the billboards remain, until the edge of the city, the end of the road. The air burns her lungs as she catches her breath through her constricted throat, but the ache that started her desperate run is still noticeable somewhere between it. Here, with only the sound of her gasps mixed with the wind, she can not ignore it any longer. Doesn't want to ignore it any longer.
-
Evening passes and only the lights of the city shine behind her, casting her shadow out in front of her until the weak light of a street lamp cuts the silhouette off. She should probably turn back and get home, she also has to pick her belongings back up from the courtyard where she had left them in her swell of emotion.
People may call her the greatest stayer, but between her regular extended evening training and this desperate run fatigue has thoroughly set in. She could call the family butler to just pick her up, but even if her dragging legs can no longer muster up the energy to run, they can still walk. Even if she feels every muscle in her legs scream from pain, she can still walk. She has to continue walking. Back into the city, back past the billboards, back to the academy and her bag, abandoned so carelessly next to the archway where, in the evening, she and Teio used to meet.
McQueen leans against its stone once more and looks up at the mid-summer night sky, remembering the moonlit promise she made in late winter, like she has done after every training since.