The Running Man in the Suit

Mr Spencer had been running for nine hours today. He was following a main road – something he hadn't done in a year and a half.

The reason for this was because a car was driving slowly alongside him. Inside was a journalist – a lady in her fifties wanting a character piece for the local newspaper. Mr Spencer didn't mind – he liked company when he could get it, even if those he spoke to so rarely understood.

"How long have you been running?" asked the journalist.

"Twelve hours a day for six years," said Mr Spencer.

"And how do you keep your energy up?"

"I don't know, to be honest," said Mr. Spencer. "I have a big lunch every day, but I think I must be naturally fit."

"And when will you stop?"

Mr Spencer smiled sadly.

"Sir?"

"Pardon?"

"When will you stop?"

Mr Spencer, still running, turned to look at the journalist in the car.

"When I've finished."

-10001-

February 2nd 2001
Six years ago

Mr Spencer walked slowly through the now-empty house. Soon enough, a young couple would be moving in. Good luck to them, he thought. He'd had his chance at starting a family, and he'd turned it down. Only right that a comfy house like this should be a family home.

He'd chosen to wear his suit and sensible shoes. After all, he was hardly going to be comfortable whatever he wore.

He picked up his briefcase. He'd considered taking a rucksack, but had eventually decided on a style-over-comfort policy.

Standing on the doorstep, Mr Spencer looked out over the neighbourhood. It was late, and nobody was around other than a late-night dog walker and a homeless man on a bench.

Mr Spencer approached the bench. He reached into his pocket, and retrieved a five-pound note. He placed it in the homeless man's pocket. Mr Spencer was a great believer in karma.

Well. No time like the present. Mr Spencer looked both ways. To the left, a park. To the right, a road of pubs.

He faced left. Took a deep breath. And started running.

-10001-

February 10th 2007
Today

"Have you ever missed a day?"

"No." Mr Spencer was growing impatient with this woman. She was asking stupid questions.

"Why do you run?"

"Because I have to."

"What happens if you don't?"

Mr Spencer sighed. He'd hoped to avoid this subject. He wanted this to be an article about a curious running man who happened to be in the neighbourhood. But it always came down to his motivation, and he had no desire to lie.

"If I don't run," he said, "The world won't be worth living in."

A pause. The same pause every time. Nobody understood.

"I don't understand," said the journalist.

"No, I don't expect you do."

-10001-

March 13th 2001
Six years ago

Mr Spencer arrived at a bus shelter. By now, he'd managed to block out the physical strain and the constant hunger, but he could never get over the rain.

Sitting down in the shelter, Mr Spencer put his briefcase on the end of the seat. He pulled out his clockwork alarm clock, set the time, and placed it on the ground.

Soon enough, he was fast asleep. But he when he awoke, it wasn't to the sound of an alarm clock.

"I can't believe you're actually doing this," came the voice.

Mr Spencer jumped up.

"What are you doing here?" he asked.

"You don't have to do it, you know," said the girl. "It's ... it doesn't matter."

Mr Spencer didn't respond.

"You know I'd love to talk to you now," he said. "More than anything. But I really need to sleep. I'm running again tomorrow."

"Why?" wailed the girl. "Why do you insist on doing this?"

"You know why."

"Isn't there anything that'll ... get you off the hook?" she asked, her eyes pleading.

"No. There isn't."

"I ..." started the girl, and then gulped. She was crying. She wiped her eyes, tried to regain control, but the tears came. Mr Spencer saw that she was soaked to the skin.

"You should go home," he said. "No sense in you getting soaked."

The girl cried harder.

"Please," she said. "I ..." She gulped once more. Determined to regain control. "I love you."

Silence. Mr Spencer looked at her.

"I'm so glad," he said. "And I still love you. And nothing in the world will ever change that."

"Then why not come home?" asked the girl. "You've been gone for over a month now."

"I understand your concern," said Mr Spencer. "But I have to run."

"But WHY?"

"If I don't run, the world won't be worth living in."

The girl stared at Mr Spencer incredulously. He lay back down on the shelter bench, and immediately fell asleep. The girl stood up, and returned to her car, crying harder than ever.

-10001-

February 10th 2007
Today

"Do you have any family?" asked the journalist.

"No," said Mr Spencer. "No, there's only me."

"How do you afford to keep going?"

"Word spreads," said Mr Spencer. "People recognise me – the running man in the suit. They bring me food. Some even let me into their homes to sleep. I'm much better off now than I've ever been, really."

"So you have no steady income?" asked the journalist.

"No," said Mr Spencer. "Some companies have offered me sponsorship in exchange for advertising their products, but I think that's rather opportunistic."

The journalist's chauffeur pulled in to allow a lorry to pass.

"Right, Mr ... Spencer, was it?"

"That's right."

"I still don't quite understand," said the journalist. "You run for twelve hours a day, eat a bare minimum, and sleep rough nine times out of ten."

"Yes."

"A good story, certainly," she said. "But it really is lacking something. Could you maybe give a less cryptic explanation for why you're doing this?"

Mr Spencer smiled. Nobody had been so specific before.

"You know," he said. "I don't think I could."

-10001-

May 21st 2001
Six years ago

Mr Spencer heard footsteps behind him. He looked behind. There she was – running behind him.

"Hia," she said meekly.

"Fancied a run, did you?" he asked drily.

She didn't reply. She was struggling to keep up. He looked over, concerned. She looked pale and tired, as though she hadn't slept in months.

"You're not going to stop running, are you?" she said.

"I thought I'd made that clear," replied Mr Spencer. "I'm not going to stop until I've finished."

Again, no reply. She was nursing her side – a stitch.

"Promise me one thing, then," she said.

"What's that?"

"Don't tell anyone why you're doing this."

"Hadn't really crossed my mind," said Mr Spencer.

"People are bound to ask eventually," she said. "A man your age running in a suit all day long. Just ... if you have to do this, if you won't stop, please don't tell anyone why. Please, just do that much for me."

Mr Spencer considered for a moment.

"Alright, I won't," he said cheerfully.

"Thanks," she said. "I have to go. I can't keep up."

"See you!" said Mr Spencer.

-10001-

February 10th 2007
Today

"How often do you change your clothes?"

Mr Spencer rolled his eyes. So close to asking the right questions, but no – curiosity always led people to the strangest questions.

"I always wear the same suit," said Mr Spencer. "I wash it whenever I get a chance, and I have a spare outfit in my suitcase to wear, just in case."

It was as though something clicked in the journalist's mind.

"The briefcase," she said. "What's in the briefcase? Apart from your spare outfit?"

Mr Spencer smiled.

"The whole story," he said. "All the answers, and all the questions. Everything you need to know."

"Why ..."

"So that if I die, people will know why I did it." He grinned. "I don't care for attention right now. But it'd be nice if, after I've finished – one way or another – everyone will read my story, and they'll have an ending."

-10001-

February 2nd 2002
Five years ago

"It's been a whole YEAR, for goodness' sake."

"Here's to many more," said Mr Spencer.

"You can't keep doing this." She was driving next to him, keeping pace. Mr Spencer hadn't heard her cry in months – after a while, she seemed to have run out of tears. But now, once again, she was in tears.

"I wish you were happy," said Mr Spencer. "You know I'm doing this because of you?"

"That's why I'm ..." More tears. Practically choking. "I love you."

"I love you," said Mr Spencer. "Very, very much."

And he kept running.

-10001-

February 10th 2007
Today

The journalist was gone. Good riddance, thought Mr Spencer. He'd hoped for a clever one. He soon found an intriguing footpath leading away from the main road, and decided to follow it.

He loosened his tie, passed his briefcase into his other hand, and wiped the sweat from his brow.

And he kept running.