Read Fast Company for Free Online Page A

slowing down. So what! Manny hollered inside his head. It’s a race! Forget about the time.
    Manny moved to the outside edge of the first lane and stuck within inches of the leader. Around the turn and into the backstretch, his aim was to stay with this guy.
    Arms pumping furiously, they headed into the final turn, puffing and grunting as they began an all-out sprint. The leader moved out to the line between the first and second lanes, forcing Manny to go even wider if he wanted to get past.
    Onto the straightaway, just fifty meters from the finish. Manny dug for everything he had left. Closer, closer, and suddenly he had the lead. Leaning forward with no air in his lungs, his throat burning and his arms feeling like cement. The finish line, the tape against his chest. He won it!
    Manny got off the track and settled to his knees. He put his fingertips to his pounding forehead and shut his eyes, gasping for breath. He lowered his hands to the floor and crouched like that for a few seconds, waiting for his head to clear and his breathing to slow down to normal.
    Suddenly he felt hands around his waist and was pulled gently to his feet. “Fantastic race,” said Coach Alvaro. “Walk it off, buddy. Don’t lie there in a heap.”
    Manny took a few slow steps and inhaled deeply. He looked up at the coach and gave a pained smile. “Caught that sucker,” he said softly.
    “You sure did,” Coach said. “You’re a tough little guy, Manny. There’s no quit in you.”
    Manny looked up at the bleachers toward his teammates and family. He raised his fist when he locked eyes with his father, then turned to the coach.
    “What was the time?” he asked.
    “2:19. Pretty darned good.” Coach smiled. “Serrano better watch out, huh?”
    Manny gave a tight smile and nodded. He’d used every ounce of strength and speed he had in him. Where would he find even more?

9
    A Higher Level
    M anny and Sal got up early Monday morning to have breakfast with their dad before he left for work. Dad drove a truck for a package delivery company and was out of the house before seven every morning. Often he didn’t return until seven at night.
    “Will you make us French toast, Daddy?” Sal asked, rushing into the kitchen in his pajamas.
    Dad was seated at the kitchen table, drinking a cup of coffee and reading The New York Times. He glanced at the clock. “Sure,” he said. “We’ll have to hurry. Get out the bread, Sal.”
    Manny took a frying pan out of the cupboard. He turned on the burner and poured oil into the pan.
    “I want six pieces!” Sal said. “I’m starving.”
    “Let’s start with three apiece,” Dad said, rubbing Sal’s hair. “We can always make more.”
    Sal took a seat and tapped his knife and fork on the table. “Can I bring your gold medal for show-and-tell, Manny?” he asked.
    Manny nodded. “Yeah. You promise to take good care of it, though. Who knows if I’ll ever win another one.”
    “I’m sure you will,” Dad said. “I think you’ve found your sport.”
    Sal got up and opened the refrigerator. He took out the carton of orange juice. “You working late tonight, Daddy?” he asked.
    “You never know,” Dad said. “Been real busy lately.”
    Just then Mom walked into the kitchen. “We’re a busy family,” she said. “I’ve got three active boys here, don’t I?”
    “Active and hungry!” Sal said. “You want French toast, Mommy?”
    “I sure do. You guys are some team, making this feast so early in the morning. It smelled so good I got up before my alarm.”
    Manny set a plate on the table and motioned for his parents to sit down. “You guys eat first,” he said. “Me and Sal will take the second batch.”
    “Great,” Dad said. “I’ve got just enough time to eat and get out of here.”
    “Not us,” said Sal. “We got an hour. Will you watch cartoons with me after we eat, Manny?”
    “No problem,” Manny said. “I hope Bugs Bunny is on.”
     
    Manny ran an easy three miles