Ironman Read Online Free PDF Page B

like Redmond, I usually feel okay inside , even though I know big trouble is coming, because Redmond really is an asshole and I don’t care whether he likes me or not. But the minute the word “asshole” spills over my lip, I know he’s got me. Though my diagnosis may be correct, all anyone sees is a bozo out of control. Afterward, I’d do anything to keep them from seeing that.
    Even worse, I trash people I care about that very same way when I start looking bad, and when I get rolling I can’t stop, don’t want to stop. I do it with Mom all the time, and I did it with the only girlfriend I ever had, so far. When it’s over, I feel stupid and ashamed, and I don’t think there’s afeeling worse than that.
    Enough. There are no answers in life, and I’m afraid I’m making a case for attending Mr. Nak’s group. Besides, I need my sleep. Mr. S said I could work out with the university swim team if I’d show up at five o’clock in the A.M ., and that comes early. Thanks for listening, Larry. You’re a good host. After you’ve made me famous with this masterpiece, you ought to think about being a shrink.
    Outta here,
The Big B
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    â€œMan, what’s he doin’ here?” Ian Wyrack nods toward Bo standing chest deep in the university swimming pool, gasping for oxygen after the last swim in a set of twenty hundred-yard sprints. “He isn’t on the team. Hell, he isn’t even enrolled here. Aren’t you that high-school punk whose picture was in the paper for that triathlon crap? Wants to be an Ironman or some shit?”
    â€œPunk’ and ‘Ironman’ in the same sentence would seem a contradiction in terms, Ian,” Lion says from the deck. “Besides, I counted eight of those repeats in which this high-school punk kicked your butt.”
    Wyrack pulls himself out of the water, his triceps bouncing on the backs of his arms like tennis balls, pectorals dancing. Bo glances up, then quickly away, thinking, This guy is Terminator III.
    â€œShee,” Wyrack says, “I dogged those.”
    â€œYou sure you want me to know that?” Lion asks, and the shrill blast of his whistle ricochets around the walls of the pool house. “Line ’em up!” he hollers. “By his own count, Wyrack dogged eight of those! Help him out, guys; let’s do those eight again!” To a man, the small team of nine swimmers groans. “Way to go, Wyrack!” “Nice job, Wyrack!” “Hey Wyrack, keep it to yourself!”
    Wyrack kisses his knuckles as Bo drags himself from the water. “You’re meat, Ironman.”
    â€œI’ll assume you’re dogging any repeat Brewster wins,” Lion says, his eyes following the second hand on the giant workout clock above Lane Four as it drifts toward twelve. He moves behind Bo five seconds before the start whistle. “A true Ironman would take that as a challenge,” he says in a low voice. “See how long you can keep these guys in the water. I’ll let you out a few minutes early to get to Mr. Nak’s group. You’ll be gone before Wyrack has dried off.” He blasts the whistle.
    Sixteen hundred-yard sprints later, Wyrack finally touches the wall a tenth of a second ahead of Bo for the eighth time to end that workout segment. He is without sufficient oxygen to predict Bo’s short lifespan aloud,but draped over the lane divider, sucking air like a tropical depression, he points a finger at Bo’s heart.
    At the same moment Lion glances at his wristwatch. “Brewster, you’re outta here, man. Gonna be late to your early morning class. Thanks for giving us a push.”
    Bo hauls himself once more out of the water, refusing to look back in the direction of the groans.
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    Don Sheridan, the head janitor, bangs down the panic bar with his broom handle from the inside on the side entrance door, allowing Bo to enter the school