Robert's Flash Fiction

12/16/04 - The Race of the Century

The Race of the Century
By: Robert Watson


My team of seven huskies strained on the ropes, pulling us even closer to our destination: Nome. It was only another twenty miles away. I could feel the victory building up inside me as we closed in the gap.

It was my first year doing the Iditarod, and I had already made up my mind that it definitely wasn’t going to be my last. Everyone had thought I was kidding when I announced I was going to run the race of the century. At age twenty-five, they thought I was too young. In about an hour or so I was going to prove them wrong. I wasn’t going to be the first to cross the finish line, not by a long shot, but in my heart I would always consider myself a winner.

The wind began to increase its speed. Unfortunately, it blew in the opposite direction and the dogs had to push harder to keep the sled moving. It was freezing, and by now the cold had seeped into my very bones. Over the past few weeks, the cold had become a part of my body.

“Mush, Saddie, mush! Keep going, we‘re almost there!” I shouted over the howling of the winds, chanting my lead dog onward.

Forty-five minutes later, we crossed the Nome Bridge. It was now only a three-mile stretch to the arch. In moments, my loyal companions and I swung into Front Street amongst the cheering crowd. Police escorted us down the rest of the road to the end of the street. Stepping off of the sled, I peered around at all the faces in the crowd, searching for my wife.

“Honey, you did it!” she ran up to me, crying softly. I held her in my arms.

It was the greatest moment in my life.

Words: 300