“Thanks for coming with me, guys,” said Liz, stretching her left quad in preparation for the Krispy Kreme Challenge. The challenge consisted of running from Liz’s old school to a local Krispy Kreme store two miles away, eating one dozen glazed doughnuts and then runing back to the school all within one hour.

“You better be,” said Walter. “Cuz this sounds like a terrible idea.”

“Well, just suck it up,” said Peter. “It’s for charity.”

“Charity?” said Walter. “Really? What charity?”

“Umm . . . ,” searched Peter.

“I think it’s for rabies,” speculated Liz. “To raise awareness, I think . . . or for prevention . . . or perpetuation. I don’t really know, don’t really care; I’m just here to have fun.”

“Fun?” questioned Walter.

“And you get a T-shirt if you finish within the hour time limit,” emphasized Liz. “I hear you’re a fan of free T-shirts.”

Walter did not laugh. In fact, he looked bewildered. How could running four miles, half with a full stomach of glazed doughnuts, be enjoyable, even if it was for a free T-shirt?

“And it’s for charity,” repeated Peter with a smile.

“Right,” said Walter, slightly annoyed at Peter’s apparent endorsement, however tenuous, of such a torturous event.

As Peter and Liz continued to stretch, Walter looked around, eyeing the competition. Although a few people seemed to be intensely preparing, most of the competitors seemed to be laughing and joking, barely aware that they were about to embark on a physically and emotionally tolling race. Some seemed to be completely out of place, talking on their cell phones about the latest celebrity scandals.

“You better start stretching, man,” suggested Peter. “The doughnuts will be bad enough without strained muscles.”

“Shoot, yeah,” said Walter. “That’s why I’m gonna run as fast as I can there, and take my time coming back.”

Peter and Liz looked at each other with amusement. It seemed as though Walter did not listen to a word Peter said.

Soon it was time for all the runners to congregate near the starting line to begin the race. As the group slowly gathered, the more competitive runners, at least in mindset, including Walter, pushed their way toward the front while the others, along with Peter and Liz, slowly filed in behind them.

“So how are things with Melissa?” asked Liz, trying to coax information out of Peter.

Before Peter could answer, however, the bang of the gun signifying the start of the race rang across the crowd, and the large group began running toward its destination, the participants moving at various paces.

Walter led the pack, at least for the first minute of the race, before showing early signs of fatigue and slowly giving ground to the other competitors. Peter and Liz, on the other hand, ran toward the back of a pack of people that formed behind the leaders.

As the race continued along the busy afternoon streets, the crowd of people began to grow more spread apart with runners grouping at the corners of streets waiting for the policemen to let them cross. It was at each of these corners that Liz repeatedly questioned Peter about Melissa.

“So how are things . . . ,” she repeated, gasping for breath, “. . . with Melissa?”

“Hard to say,” stated Peter in the same manner as Liz. “She’s the kind of girl you want so much it makes you sorry; still you don’t regret a single day, that is when I’m with her, which is rare.”

“But where do you stand?” asked Liz.

“Oh, I don’t know,” huffed Peter. “I think we’ve worked things out since the other night after the soccer game, but I just don’t know.”

At that moment, they were given the go ahead to cross the street by the police officer so Liz did not have to deliver her reaction.

A few hundred yards later, Peter and Liz arrived together at Krispy Kreme. As they were arriving, they witnessed Walter scarf down his last doughnut before taking off again toward the finish line.

“He’s really taking this seriously,” stated Liz.

“I know,” agreed Peter.

“I didn’t think he had that much energy in him; I always see him lying on your futon watching TV,” mentioned Liz. “Also, he complains whenever we walk anywhere.”

“Don’t let his competitiveness fool you,” said Peter. “He’s one of the laziest people I’ve ever met. He might even be the laziest person in all of Dallas, which would put him pretty high up in the running for laziest worldwide. But when there is any sort of competition going on, he always gets amped for it.”

A cluster of people now crowded the parking lot, each with a box of one dozen glazed doughnuts in his or her hands. Some gorged themselves immediately, hurrying to get back to campus, but the smarter ones paced themselves, knowing that the faster you eat them, the quicker they emerge.

Later, after finishing their doughnuts and slowly beginning their journey back to campus, Peter and Liz were once again stopped at an intersection.

“Are you coming over to watch ‘The Office’ later?” asked Liz.

“I think so,” said Peter. “I’m gonna call Melissa to see if she wants to do anything later. So it depends.”

“You know, most girls don’t fall for the guy that worships them,” said Liz. “They’re looking for partners, not parishioners.”

But Peter was distracted. He had just noticed Walter crouched behind a tree dry heaving, a puddle of chewed-up doughnuts, water and stomach acid at his feet.

Liz, noticing that Peter’s attention had shifted elsewhere, looked to see what he was viewing. “Is that Walter?” she inquired.

“Yeah.”

“Is he all right?” asked Liz.

“I dunno. Let’s go see how he’s doing.”

They approached Walter with caution. “Hey, are you all right?” they asked.

As he spit out the remainder of his recently consumed doughnuts to Liz’s and Peter’s disgust, he responded, “Horrible.”

“Come on, we’ll take it easy-you’ve gotta finish,” responded Peter. “We wouldn’t want you to miss out on a free T-shirt.”

“All right.”

About a quarter of a mile away from the finish line, Liz observed that they had only about four minutes remaining to finish the race within the hour time frame. “Hey guys, we’ve got to pick it up if we’re going to finish.”

“You good to jog the rest of the way, Walt?” questioned Peter.

“Yeah, I think so.”

“All right,” said Liz. “Let’s pick it up.”

As the group of three began to pick up their pace, the finish line came into view. The red time clock off in the distance could be made out to read: One minute and 30 seconds remaining.

Peter and Liz began to pull ahead of Walter, who was grabbing his sides. “Come on,” they yelled encouragingly. “Pick it up!”

When Peter and Liz crossed the finish line, Walter still had about 40 yards to go with only nine seconds remaining. He was really hurting now, but he knew he could do it with only a few more yards to go.

At the finish line, Peter and Liz were waiting for him, shouting words of encouragement, hoping he would make it in time.

As the seconds ticked away, three, two, one, Walter made one last lunge toward the finish line. As he crossed, he spewed the little remaining liquid in his stomach onto Peter.

“Dammit, Walter,” yelled Peter, pushing Walter away in disgust and anger. He then proceeded to rip off his shirt and desperately search for water to wash off the vomit.

Walter, contrastly, felt surprisingly better. The weight and tension in the pit of his stomach was now relieved. And he had even finished the race in time, thus earning his free T-shirt.

“Come on, guys,” said Liz, bringing them both together again. Walter was enjoying the shouts of laughter and disgust from the crowd gathered around the finish line whereas Peter was disgusted, upset and covered in vomit.

“Let’s get you guys back so you can clean up,” she said. “Then, we’ll cheer you up by watching the season premiere of ‘The Office.'”

“It’s gonna have to be fantastic to pull me out of this mood,” emphasized Peter.

“It always is.”