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A Christmas story for :iconSpottedHyeness:
© 2023 by Walter Reimer

Jack sat on a bench, breathing hard with a towel draped over his head to fend off the sun.  Sweat dripped from his nose and ran down his bare skin as he tipped his head back and drank thirstily from a bottle of sports drink.  Scattered around him, sitting on benches or lying in the grass, his competitors also tried to relax and cool off.  A few were stretching out cramping muscles.
The competition had so far been brutal.  A hundred entrants from all over the world had been competing in the hot sun over the past week.  There had been a marathon, long jump, high jump, and dashes of distances from forty to one hundred yards.
This was the last day, and Jack considered himself lucky to have succeeded in staying in the top ten.
He set the bottle aside and rubbed the towel over his sweaty face and arms, smiling as he heard cheering from the stands and people chanting his name.  His family were here in force, his parents leading the cheers, and he looked out over the stadium grounds and waved at them, grateful for their support.
Families traveled to the tournament free of charge.  The organizer insisted on it.
Setting the towel aside after a final wipe over his close-cut ginger hair, the young man stood and started stretching out, feeling his hamstrings protest as he slowly worked out the tension and getting legs ready.  This final day had been more of an endurance test than the marathon had been, starting with a mini marathon and segueing into more long and high jump contests.
Jack finished sixth in the mini marathon, but in the top three for the jumps.  He was pleased with all the conditioning he’d done in the months leading up to the tournament. 
Around him, the others stirred and also began warming up for the final leg of the competition.  Out of the hundred that started, only twenty were left.
“Runners!  Take your places!” the loudspeaker boomed, and the first ten entrants walked over to take their assigned lanes.  Jack was in the second group, but his attention wasn’t on them.  He concentrated instead on limbering up for his turn.
He resolutely shut out the crowd noise, the cheers and applause, the gunshot, the roar as the runners took off, and the cheers as they finished.  All he heard was his heartbeat and his breathing, focusing on giving his best effort.
To win.  Not come in as part of the pack, but to outdistance his competition, to show that all the training had paid off.
“Runners!  Take your places!” and Jack joined the other ten and walked over to his lane.
“On your marks!” and he placed his feet on the blocks, feeling his heart rate rising as his adrenalin began to surge.
“Get set!” and he planted his hands on the track, muscles tensing for the first, all-important steps.
The gunshot echoed, and time slowed as he burst out of the blocks, neck and neck with the lead runner.
Some paces ahead stood the first set of hurdles, and Jack took them in stride.  More paces, and a second set loomed.
There were ten lines of hurdles.  Ten obstacles, with what felt like an eternity between each.
Jack focused, focused on his breathing, his steps, the exact right time to jump, the correct form to avoid touching or toppling each of the hurdles in front of him.
He was third coming up on the fifth hurdle, and he increased his speed.
His trailing foot brushed the seventh hurdle, making it rock back and forth.
His leading foot brushed the tenth hurdle, causing it to wobble dangerously, but it remained standing.
He leaned forward, arms behind him as he gathered the last of his strength and made it across the finish line.
Only then did his hearing pick up the cheers of the crowd and the adulation of his family.  His erstwhile opponents came up to him and congratulated him on coming in fifth, and fourth in the overall standings.
Jack thought his face would freeze in a smile.
His family were allowed down on the track to congratulate him, his mom hugging him and his dad shaking his hand before pulling him into a sidehug.  “We knew you could do it, Jack,” his father said proudly.
Jack kissed his mother on the cheek and tousled his little sister’s hair as he said, “Thanks, Dad.”
“We’re all so proud of you,” his mother said, wiping tears from her eyes.  His little brother was taking pictures with his cell phone and would be posting it to social media.  His sister was already deeply immersed in her own phone.
Around them, the other winners were meeting their own families, and the others in the stands applauded even as they began to leave the stadium.
A race official walked over to Jack and his parents.  “Congratulations,” he said in good English with a trace of French accent.
“Thank you, sir,” Jack said, taking the man’s offered hand and shaking it.
The official grinned and shook his parents’ hands as well before saying, “When you’re done, we need to see you in the hall.”
“Right.  Thank you,” Jack said.
He said goodbye to his parents and other family members then and joined the other ten winners in walking out of the stadium.  His family would collect his trophy and the accompanying check.
The hall was attached to the stadium, near the locker rooms, and each of the ten dressed in warmup suits in an anteroom before entering the larger open space.  Jack was one of three from America; there were others from Europe, one Asian and one African.
A table set along one wall held cups of water and sports drink along with snacks, and for a while the ten young men relaxed and hydrated.
Heads turned as two officials opened the double doors at one end of the hall, and the tournament organizer walked in.
He was tall, with an expansive white beard that fell over his red wool-clad paunch and a gentle smile on his face.  “Welcome, my friends,” he said in a rolling bass voice.
“I want to thank all of you for volunteering and trying so hard to compete fairly and win honestly,” he said.  “You knew when you applied what is expected of you, and this is your final chance to back out.”  He grinned, a twinkle in his gray eyes.  “If any of you want to leave now, you may.”
None of the young men moved.  They had competed as much for the honor as for the trophy or money.
“I’m proud of all of you,” the man said, and he snapped his fingers.
A reindeer bull stepped into the room, hooves clip-clopping on the tiled floor.  The only feature that distinguished him from others of his species was his nose, which was a bright and cheerful red.
“Everyone ready?”  The tall, bearded man said, and he rubbed his hands together.  Sparks began to drift to the floor like glitter before he placed his right hand on the reindeer’s head.
The red nose suddenly glowed brightly as the familiar took the magic, altered it, and projected the spell.
All ten of the young athletes dropped to their hands and knees as the magic swirled through the air to surround them, the change feeling strange but pleasant.  It didn’t hurt at all.
Jack felt his hands and feet shifting, nails hardening into hooves, teeth changing to fill lengthening jaws as fur replaced clothes.
It was all over in seconds.
When it was done, the ten reindeer all looked around and looked at each other.  Nostrils flared, tasting the air as altered eyes gave them each a new view of the world around them.  One or two bugled, while others pawed their hooves against the tiled floor.
“Yes, yes, I know,” the man said, and with a wave of his left hand the hall changed as well, becoming a barn with ten stalls.  Eight for the team, with two alternates in case of injury.  “You’ll have plenty of time to get used to your new forms, and we’ll start training in a couple days after you’ve all rested.”  He gave a deep chuckle.  “That includes flying,” and the assembled reindeer all looked at each other.
It wasn’t possible to smile, but Jack grinned.  He was sure that the others did as well.
There was a gust of wintry air as the doors at the far end opened and grooms came in, well-bundled against the cold outside, and led each of the new reindeer to their respective stalls.  Eight of the stoutly-built wooden stalls bore brass plates with the names they’d bear until their tour of service was over.
Jack saw his nameplate and balked momentarily.
Cupid?
Well, he thought philosophically, at least it wasn’t Vixen.

End
Merry Christmas!