Marathon Man by JohnnoAllthwaite

Fiction, Boys/Teen Female, Cheating, Reluctance



Weatherfield England, Summer 2012, the London Olympics year.

We all had Olympic fever, well that’s my excuse.


We was down the Flying Horse one night having a few bevvies Al and me when this bloke in a tracksuit with a clipboard and stopwatch walks in.

“Hey, no trainers allowed in here,” some clever dick twat in a roll neck sweater pipes up.

“Very funny,” the guy says, and he turns to this group of posh twats sat there and asks,”And what exactly are you doing here?” he enquires.

“Training!” the guy joked and his mates thought it was the funniest thing since we put cling film over the bogs.

“Jesus christ you’re all drunk!” the bloke exclaimed.

“Drunk?” Big Yin the five foot two anorexic Scotsman that was behind the bar protested, “They’ve barely wetted their lips, a half each is all they had!”

“Then where have they been drinking?” the guy asks.

“It ain’t drink mate,” I said.

“They been snorting coke in the bogs,” Al added.

“Wankers!” we agreed and laughed because that’s what you do when you’ve had ten pints of Stella (Artois) down your neck.

“Oh no!” the guy said, “You’re joking right?”

“Don’t think so,” I told him, “You want a pint?”

“Ah, no, I don’t have my wallet.” he admitted, “You idiots do know you have a blood test at nine tomorrow morning?”

“You’re kidding right?” the prat in the roll neck gasped, “Oh fuck!”

“Yes, you’re fucked all right.” he said, “The College take a dim view of drugs, not to mention the Athletics Association, you idiots could be banned for life.”

“You’re all right,” Al says, “We’ll take the test for you!”

“Oh great!” he said, “You’re about three times the limit!”

“But we ain’t drugged up are we squire?” Al asked, “Look we’re offering Ok.”

“Thanks but no thanks,” he said, “God knows what a pair of skivers like you have been taking.”

“Oi,” I said, “I been helping Al on the bins while Jib-bob Harrogate’s off with the lurgy.”

“That’s hardly the point,” he said, “These are trained Athletes, their physiques honed,” he looked at me, “What’s so funny?”

“They are?” I laughed, “Fucking Athletes, snorting coke and taking it up ech other’s asses round the bogs, who you kidding?”

His gob just flopped open like a goldfish, “Well what you expect when you ban them from having girlfriends?” I asked, “Stands to reason you’ll end up with a bunch of queers.”

He looked like he been smacked across the face with a wet Haddock, “Oh hell!” he said, “Oh bloody hell.”

“Didn’t you realise?” I asked.

“Jesus you wee idiot,” Big Yin says, “Surely you must have knowed?”

“It all makes sense, they don’t seem to get any faster,” he said, “We have an Olympic trial on Saturday, Ilkley marathon.”

“You’re fucked then,” I said.

“Ah you know you offered?” he said.

“Fucking blood test,” I said, “Not a fucking ten mile run!”

“Twenty five more like,” Al agreed.

“Ah, Twenty Six miles, three hundred and eighty five yards,” the bloke said, “I’ll see you tomorrow morning at the University refectory,” he said, “The cafe?” he added, “I’m Lionel, chief athletics coach?”

“We only meant the blood test,” Al said pleading like.

“I’m Johnno Allthwaite,” I said, “And this is Al,” I added, “I always fancied me self as an athlete, keep it up for ages me!”

Al laughed and so I got another round in before we went round the bogs for a smoke.

Next morning we persuaded old Ted to have a tea break outside the Uni part way round our bin round and we wandered in to find Lionel.

“Oh my god!” he whined when he saw us, “You might have tried to look like Athletes,” he said.

I didn’t see his problem, me bright orange coveralls weren’t that dirty considering I’d had them on all week, “Find some kit ok?” he said and he showed us the changing room where the blokes from the previous was all kitted up in Adidas and Nike and stood around all nervous like.

I found some shorts and I held a towel for Al so that bunch of queers couldn’t get a butchers of his tackle, not that there’s much to see, he wouldn’t make eight inches even if you stuck
a rocket up his ass, and he done the same for me.

“Ok,” Lionel says, “Lose the sock Allthwaite,” he says.

“What sock,” I says.

“That’s not a sock that’s his cock,” says Al who was still a bit hung over.

“Oh, ah right.” he says, “I just hope you two idiots are clean drugs wise!” he says, “Anyway the tester is Mr Graythwaite and you are both studying Sociology, if he asks.”

“Engineering,” I says, “I ain’t no shirtlifter!”

“No,” Al says, “Sociology is what the dumb blondes do.”

“So you fucking do it,” I said, “I’ll be the next Adrian Newry and you can be fucking forgotten.”

“Gentlemen,” Lionel says forgetting himself, “I mean Lads, Sociology and Engineering, its fine,” he said because he thought we would be fucking crap at running.

They took some blood from us, some bloke in a white coat took blood samples from us and the the blokes from the Flying Horse and some girls who looked real fit in their sports kit, too fit, I like a bit more tit myself, well some tit at least.

We stood around afterwards, “I say,” one girl tittered, in upper class speak, she was real fit, not fanciable but a six pack, almost flat chested you know but I wouldn’t kick her out of bed if I was short of the price of a tart, “The old sock down the shorts thing is so passe!”

“That’s no sock,” I said.

“Really?” she said, “Show me!”

“No way Johnno!” Al cautioned, “Hey some of these jokers are on sports scholarships and that,”
Johnno said, “Could be a nice little earner.”

We had to fuck off, Ted was playing the Titanic theme on the Dustcart’s horn so we got stuck in and was finished by dinner.

She was called Suzanne, it turned out, and there we were ready for Ilkley Marathon.

“Where the fuck does it say we can’t run in a fucking council boiler suit?” I asked.

“Don’t be a prat all your life Allthwaite,” this Suzanne bird said, “It’s all a big joke to you!”

“Some fucking joke,” I said, “You fucking watch out, you only got ten minutes head start and the moor’s pretty lonely!” It was more like twenty minutes actually but nobody told me.

“Promises, promises,” she said, how was I to know she hadn’t had it for months on account of the training and was desperate for some action.

Anyway we got stripped down and was fucking shivering by The Angel, so I had me debit card and got a four pack of Four X in for Al and me and we felt a bit better.

We wasn’t far from “The Bombay Duck,” so I sneaked off and got some pork balls and a bag of chips each which went down a treat but Lionel did his nut and grabbed me fags off me when I went to light up.

“Oi!” he said, “Where were you, didn’t you hear the gun?”

“What?” I says, “Oh fuck!” they was right up the end of the road, we took off after them and it wasn’t hard to catch them but then it got fucking boring jogging along, “Fuck this,” I said to Al, “I’m getting fucking cold.”

“Not the same without a bin to carry,” Al said, “Shall we get a move on, maybe stop for a bevvy?”

“Right oh,” I said and we sort of fucked off and left the other fuckers what wasn’t used to a hard days work chasing a bin lorry wheezing along behind us.