By: Lauren Spagnoletti
“Just finished a 5K in 24:30,” Roger boasted. “That’s better than an 8-minute mile, ya know.”
Myrtle nodded politely as she typed away. She knew not to engage him in these moments.
“How ‘bout a little friendly competition?” he asked, settling into a lunge, testing the limits of his work Chinos as he stretched his hammies.
If she didn’t indulge him, he might never shut up.
At the start line, Roger blew loud, obnoxious breaths in preparation. Myrtle’s eyes focused.
Roger bolted forward, repeatedly looking back at his competition lagging behind him. Myrtle looked ahead.
A hamstring snaps.