The girl passed him just off the 300-m mark.

Ali looked up from his watch with surprise. Few joggers passed him. No girls ever had. Not when he was at his usual running pace.

A shrewd database administrator, Ali prided himself on being the fittest person in the entire IT department. While most would prefer the gym, he liked running better. Almost every evening -- sometimes whatever left of a DBA's life started at 9 or 10 PM -- he jogged for five kilometers. Seven on weekends.

A few years earlier Ali had found his love for jogging. Next to swimming it was -- he had read on the web -- the best exercise to stay fit. It had been hard at first for the then-24-year-old computer geek, to whom keeping in shape had meant making his Sims work out on various fitness equipments.

Until the night when he had had a big headache, trying to sort out a problem at work unsuccessfully. That was when he had decided to go home and then, out of the blue, out for a jog. Between puffing and huffing he had found the solution to his problem. Just like that. Since then whenever he needed some time to think, he always put on his sneakers and went out on that jogging track near his place. Over the years two kilometers had become three, four, and eventually five and seven. Ali, while still an IT enthusiast, was now an avid sports fan as well.

Twice a year he took part in half-marathon events. It helped that the country he lived in had a government that actively promoted healthy lifestyle. Jogging tracks were always in the proximity of any housing areas. His was a 2,800-m track, marked every 100 meters.

Ali knew most of the regular joggers by sight. There were quite a number of old men who were still very fit and could still run the distance; one of them always had a pomeranian alongside him. There was a pretty girl about his age who always ran with headphones on. Ali always said she was too slow and he had lost interest -- although he never had a problem taking his time overtaking her. There were a few guys who ran very fast but not very far -- to Ali's scorn. Many other interesting characters were there, but none that he could not overtake.

And now a girl had just run past him. Quite easily. Ali frowned. He was not at his fastest pace, but still, a girl passing him like that was not something he was ready to accept.

Relax, man, Ali told himself. I bet she'll quit after one or two kilometers. He paced himself to keep up with the girl. After another 200 meters, he found it quite a job. The girl had been keeping a steady pace, and it was far from slow.

Ali had never seen her before. She was definitely in shape and, running a few meters behind, Ali did not dislike what he saw. His watch told him he was running significantly faster than his usual speed. Meaning that he would tire himself out before his usual five kilometers. It's okay, he was confident she would quit or slow down soon.

It was after the 1,500-m mark that he started to worry. The girl did not show any signs of slowing down, let alone stopping anytime soon. That's it, then. Ali upped his pace and quickly found himself running alongside her, about two meters apart. He stole a glance before moving in front of her. Not bad, he thought. For a gal who can run that fast, at least.

Running about five meters in front, Ali maintained his rather-fast pace. Every now and then he raised his arm, pretending to check his watch while actually looking at the girl through the reflection on it. It was almost the turning point, the 2,800-m mark, and she stayed a few meters behind him. Ali began to relax.

He reached the mark and turned around, a few seconds before she did. Enough for a good look at her. Damn! She doesn't look tired at all! Ali really hoped she would slow down now. And to his relief, she did. Ali kept his own speed until he was ahead by twenty meters or so before doing likewise.

With the girl out of the picture, Ali's mind started wandering, as it always did when he jogged. He replayed the latest polemic in his alumni mailing lists. It was a years-old topic, yet it re-surfaced annually: whether to do with or without the Fellowship Night.

It was an annual event. The welcoming -- or the initiation, one might prefer -- of the faculty's freshmen. By tradition, during their first month freshmen were given cold shoulders by their seniors. Worse still, they were made to do seemingly useless tasks and to obey their seniors without questions. There were only two rules: 1) seniors are always right and 2) if seniors are wrong, see rule 1).

All the discrimination peaked at the feared Fellowship Night. The seniors invited the new students to a camping trip. The new guys knew they would suffer more and yet they also knew that their suffering would end there. So most of them would go, suffer, and just before the night ended be welcomed to the Computer Science family.

The questions were always the same: Is this Fellowship Night still salubrious to the big family of the Computer Science Faculty? Or is it time to move on and leave the once-sacred event in the history book for good?

Reaching the 800-m mark, Ali thought back to his own freshmen days, his own Fellowship Night. He and 40-plus others had also gone through the endless list of seemingly random, unnecessary tasks -- really, why would anyone in 21st century hand-write a 1294-word composition, every other word alternating between a red pen and a blue one? -- all the while having to endure the also-endless taunting and punishment.

But when it had ended, he and most of the guys had felt it had been worth every minute of it. The warm handshakes and hugs. The feeling of finally becoming part of the family. The team spirit that had resulted. Not to mention all the memories exclusively shared by only the 40-odd of them.

On the other hand, Ali thought as he was completing his 1,500 meters -- 4,300 in total -- time had passed and things had changed. Even the once-unthinkable succession of his country's president had happened. Four times since his university days. So maybe it was time to change. After all, life was not about fighting off changes, but acting on them.

Besides, the DBA reflected, who were we to have a say in this matter? We were just alumni, who had left the campus years ago. My God, has it really been ten years now?

Just then, the girl passed him again.

Ali grunted and looked at his watch timer. He had not dropped his pace, so she ought to have picked up hers. Okay, Sistah, you're on!

Ali threw away all his thoughts on any fellowship night and concentrated on the task in hand: to show this newcomer whom the track belonged to.

It was easier said than done. Just as before, the girl was running in a steady, yet fast pace. Ali summoned all his will. They were nearing what normally would be Ali's finish line -- the 2,200-m mark. And barely 22 minutes had gone for Ali -- he usually finished his 5-km jog in 27 or 28 minutes.

I will not lose. Still about five meters behind, he decided to go all-out. As he almost caught up with her, however, she suddenly increased her speed -- just off Ali's normal finish line. He had no choice but to follow suit.

At the 2,500-m mark he was finally able to pass her -- but almost with nothing left in his lungs. Come on, buddy. Only 300 meters to go! He really sprinted now. The end of the track was in sight. Come on! He did not dare to turn his head. Two hundred. You can do it! One hundred. Go! Go! Go!

And he did. Finally. End of the track. Ahead of her.

Ali did not stop. He did not want her to see how exhausted he was. Instead, he jogged off the track, heading back to his apartment block. Just as he made a corner that shielded him from the track, however, he stopped and checked his watch, while hoping his lungs did not burst.

He could not believe it. No matter how fast he had run, he had been yet to make 5 kilometers in under 24 minutes. Now he had just finished 5,600 meters in exactly that. A personal best.

All thanks to his big ego. Never underestimate the male ego, Ali allowed himself a smile. He gave full credits to the girl, who had pushed him to the limit. She had to be there somewhere on the track now, catching her breath. Ali caught his as well and went home for a shower.

Just as Ali reached his front door, back in the jogging track and to none of the DBA's knowledge, the girl had just run past the 700-m mark -- on her way to complete her daily dose of 10-km run. Mags -- as the girl was affectionately known in MR25, the most active running club in town, where she was a member -- was preparing herself for the upcoming marathon event in two weeks. The runner-up last year in the same event, she was determined to improve this year.

"This track is not bad," she said to herself, checking her timer, "even better than MacRitchie. I should tell Pauline and the gang."

Current music: Eagles - In The City
Current mood: happy