Race 003: Back to the back to the back to the...

Settling into the restroom with the key I ripped from the poor little girl's hand, I worked the squeaking rust that remained of the hot water knob. Through the bolts of pain I managed to wash the green ooze from my hands so as not to infect myself any further. The treachery in this group is becoming alarming. Not only have I fallen behind the pack of real competitors, but now Thad, I still can't believe any loving parent would name their child that, had even gone as far as to sabotage my sports drink. Granted on any other occasion I would have found the sneaking of moonshine into a sports drink humorous as I came back from a light jog or after a game of tennis in the park, before the elbow shattering mugging on Vine two weeks ago, but under these circumstances, unforgivable.
In the midst of my desperate dash down Oak to keep ahead of the pack and sweating profusely from the extra sprint after the junk yard fiasco. I was in need of a refreshing sports drink after a rough patch, but a burning, choking, gagging sensation sending me lurching over the curb and through a poor hot dog vendor's cart was what I received. In all of my experience in the "dangerous city", as my mother called it when I moved here, I never thought the worst weapon I would be attacked with would be scalding hot dog water and a surprisingly sharp set of tongs wielded by an angry Hungarian man.
"I'm telling the clerk! I was here first and I need the bathroom as much you do."
Whipped from my memories, I find myself lying next to a trash can with no lid overflowing with paper towels and an empty condom wrapper. I guess this is a unisex restroom. I only wish that were the most alarming thing I found on that floor. I don't suggest going through gas station restroom trash cans without a HAZMAT suit on, but I couldn't help myself from dragging the bright pink wig from the trash buried beneath what originally looked like someone had a bloody nose and used paper towels to clean up the mess. I only had to dig a bit further to find the piggy mask. The people I work with are so weird.
"Is there a problem in there?"
A man's voice now. Possibly the man at the counter that told me to "puke at someone else's place of work" obviously smelling the alcohol emanating from my breath, my shirt, my hair, my shoes, my shorts and anywhere else on me not gracefully protected from the green spewing that had occurred from my refreshment. Pull it together, you've only been delayed by... 35 minutes! Had it really been that long? How do I lose so much time so quickly? I was five minutes ahead of pace before the quarter point. The quarter point, the masked assault, the drink fiasco and the bridge collapse. No time left to waste on vomiting and exhaustion. Time for the fast track.
"Don't come back, you bitch!" A parting sentiment after the door kick I used unintentionally breaks his nose. The little girl is nowhere to be found. She must not have needed the restroom as much as I did after all. Or maybe I was wrong. In my full sprint around the corner, I run headlong into a pink bike with a ribbons and a banana seat. No girl in sight. Just the bike almost strategically placed across the sidewalk as if she knew I'd come barreling around the corner with no chance of stopping.
Before I know it, I'm pedaling as fast as I can away from the store front. I'm losing small pieces of time with each consistent spill and blackout. Tripping over the bike was my latest along with some form of reasoning that gave me possession of the offending bike. I'm nearly 40 minutes behind and I don't have much choice. On top of that, these training wheels may be slowing me down more than the sports drink.
As I begin to shift my weight back and forth frantically as I try to make up time and break the training wheels off by force, I vaguely notice the sound of an engine running all out coming from somewhere near.. Luckily the right training wheel finally snapped off after far too much pressure causing the little pink rocket to take a sharp right turn. Just as the front wheel hits the sidewalk followed by the left training wheel snapping off, I tumble forward off of the bike landing just soon enough to see the cab the sped by me, turn sharply without slowing down and take a missile launch into the brick building ahead of me.
Contrary to the intent, it would seem the training wheels nearly cost me my life today. It's only a bit after I stand up that I realize where the cab embedded itself to my amusement. Fitting end, I guess.