Chapter 2.

Kenyan sunrises were something to behold.

Granted, most African sunrises were something to behold, but Kenya in particular had a magical vibe that entranced and intrigued the modern world just as much as the European explorers who had first mapped it over two centuries ago. When presented with the name, most people called to mind a canvas silhouetting wildlife walking home after a long day against the backdrop of an orange sun, but she was much more than that. From her majestic baobab trees to the tortured peaks of her many mountains, Kenya remained one of the few corners of the world where nature still reigned semi-supreme.

At least, these were the thoughts dancing around Gordon's head as he inflated his lungs with the crisp morning air. He'd been up until gone five o'clock with Alan on video chat, but had instinctively risen at his usual time of six. Unable to use the pool as part of his pre-agreed 'early arrival' contract, he'd come to the realisation that he had virtually nothing to busy himself with aside from the occasional run. He'd crashed pretty early the night before, courtesy of jetlag, and had yet to follow through with the promise he'd made to his brothers of making friends. With nothing imminent on either the social or training calendar, he'd fallen back on one of life's simplest pleasures after dressing and brushing his teeth: watching the sun come up.

Of course, the Nairobi horizon had nothing on the horizon back on Tracy Island, but the entire spectacle was inspirational enough for Gordon to grab his phone and take a couple of snaps to send to Virgil and Grandma.

Glancing down, Gordon was surprised to see a handful of people making their way across the central courtyard towards the cafeteria, their shadowed profiles reminding him of ants as they traipsed along the walkway dividing the accommodation side of the compound from the amenities side. Deploying his inner spy, Gordon squinted to see if he could catch a glimpse of the colours on their jackets, his eyes widening when he realised that they were in fact his fellow teammates. From his vantage point he couldn't make out any distinguishing features, however the familiarity of the Stars and Stripes was enough to make him throw on his shoes and leg it out the door like a bat out of hell, his footsteps like thunder as he pounded along the hallway and down the stairwell.

Upon emerging into the sleepy beginnings of what would soon be sunlight, Gordon slowed his pace slightly and tracked his targets at a safe distance. Inspirational quotes about good first impressions began to swirl around inside his head, discreetly (if a little cruelly) warning him that the respect he craved hung in the balance if he dared mess this crucial first meeting up.

'No pressure. Just be yourself.'

Unfortunately, Gordon's inbuilt self-preservation instincts had other plans. In keeping with the age-old tactic of self-fulfilling fakery brought about by imposter syndrome, the Olympic Tracy felt himself fall victim to an identity disorder of epic proportions as the pressure to socialise began to increase.

'Don't say you're a swimmer, otherwise everyone will think you're on steroids. Don't say you're fifteen, otherwise everyone will definitely think you're on steroids. Don't say you were the fastest qualifier in your division, otherwise everyone will definitely think you're on steroids.'

By the time Gordon made it to the queue for food, he'd managed to mangle his identity beyond recognition and was gearing himself up to masquerade as a twenty seven year old archer called Henry who was originally from Dallas and already had two silver medals to his name (and, for details sake, a pet tortoise called Voldetort).

Taking momentary refuge behind the water dispenser, Gordon redirected all available resources into keeping his cool as he hastily loaded up a breakfast tray and continued his stalking spree. The trio he'd been following quickly made themselves at home on a table near the salad bar, and it was with a silent prayer that Gordon began to casually meander over, his heart thumping as his brain began to generate exit strategy after exit strategy.

Mercifully, the tell-tale ringing of his phone at the last possible second gave him a valid (and loud) reason to alter course to a vacant table by the window under the guise of wanting some privacy.

"Hey, bro!" came Virgil's voice, his warm tone an oasis of familiarity, "How are things? You're up early."

Gordon rolled his eyes and slid his breakfast tray onto the table, his nerves cooling as he came down from the (almost) quarter life crisis he'd been on the verge of having, "I'm always up early, Virg. Comes with the job."

A snort filtered down the line, "Fair enough. You missed Grandma's French Bean Flan last night. Poor John hasn't left the bathroom for the last forty minutes. Scott slid some laxatives under the door a little while ago, but we've still not heard from him. Have you established contact with any of your neighbours yet?"

Irritation pooled in Gordon's stomach at his brother's almost relentless insistence that he makes friends as soon as possible. He knew the benefits of having a good social circle and wasn't opposed to the idea at all, however the pressure he was feeling over the need to establish a friendship network was starting to rival the pressure he was feeling over representing his country, and only one had the promise of a medal at the end of it.

"Not yet," Gordon replied, dunking his spoon into the bowl of porridge in front of him, "But I'm working on it. I've only been here a day, remember?"

"I know, I know," Virgil acknowledged, pausing briefly to reconsider his approach, "We just want you to settle in as quickly as possible, that's all. You're going to need a clear head once the Games get fully into swing, and having people who you can hang out with at the end of a long day can make all the difference between being happy or miserable. Trust me, I went through exactly the same when I went away to Denver, so know what I'm talking about.'

A sigh of frustration laced with a tiny bit of gratitude climbed out of Gordon's throat as he began to shred a napkin, "I appreciate your insight, Virg. Really, I do, but I'm afraid this is something I've got to do on my own."

Silence descended over the line as both brothers digested the finality of the statement that had just been made. Gordon tried to quash the guilt he was feeling by shovelling food into his mouth, while Virgil slowly came to terms with the realisation that his little brother didn't want or need his help in his particular scenario.

People often joked that Scott and Virgil were like a husband and wife duo, however that particular joke hit home in more ways than one, at least on an emotional level. Despite having their grandmother to lean on, brothers one and two had made the unspoken decision to join forces after Lucy's death and Jeff's subsequent immersion in his work in a bid to plug the parental gap left in Alan and Gordon's lives. Yelling at them for failing to make their beds and nagging them over incomplete homework came as part of the package, as did the urge to fret and interfere whenever one of them was away from home.

"Is there anything you need us to send you?" Virgil asked, his desire to change the subject evident, "Or can you wait until Scott and Alan see you on Wednesday?"

"I can wait," Gordon replied, deliberately glossing over the fact that they'd forgotten to include lactose free milk in the shopping they'd brought him, "I'd better get going. I've got some medical paperwork I have to turn in and a physio appointment at midday."

Thirteen thousand kilometres away, Virgil's eyes narrowed in suspicion, "By my reckoning it's only quarter to seven where you are, which gives you another five hours. Even full blown rescue reports don't take half that long. Why don't you make good on your promise of knocking on a few of your neighbour's doors instead?"

Gordon felt his irritation evolve into exasperation at his brother's nit-picking. He was perfectly capable of telling the time, and had been since well before Mama Virg and Papa Scott had dumped their assess into the now vacant thrones of Jeff and Lucy.

"I have other stuff on the agenda as well, okay?" Gordon snapped, his frustration boiling over like an unattended kettle as he stood up and strode briskly towards the racking trolley, "Have you considered the possibility that someone might knock on my door before I get the chance to knock on theirs? My sole purpose here isn't to make friends with everyone, Virg. My first duty is as an athlete, which means my priority is to stay in a good place physically and mentally before my first race. Faffing about with social calls will just be a distraction, and Sam will have my hide if I don't clock up twenty hours of high intensity exercise before my first race. I'll call you when and if I have anything new or interesting to report, okay? Catch you later."

Without giving his brother a chance to reply, Gordon terminated the call and stuffed his phone back in his pocket. A quick glance over his shoulder showed that his teammates were watching him with mild intrigue, and it was with a suitable amount of embarrassment that Gordon realised that his voice had been rapidly escalating in volume for the duration of the call.

Ducking around a couple of burly Māoris (rugby players, no doubt) who were conversing in the doorway, Gordon set a course for a grassy area he'd scouted out on his walk the day before. Everyone would no doubt be busy with breakfast for the next hour, which would give him enough time to snatch a bit of privacy away from the hustle and bustle of the main complex. Aside from a possible phone call to the brother least likely to get on his case (John), Gordon intended to use the time to update his battle strategy.

There could be no denying the truth behind Virgil's words, however the part of Gordon's brain labelled 'pride' would never allow him to admit this out loud. The combined wisdom of his brothers may have successfully guided him through the multitude of competitions he'd won to get to where he was now, but he was determined to navigate this particular minefield on his own. Olympic glory was something he'd sought for years, and was the one achievement in his life so far that he didn't want to share credit for with anyone else.

Plus, he was really enjoying the freedom of being away from home.

Halfway to his destination, Gordon suddenly remembered the lactose free milk that his family had forgotten to bring him. Despite the innocuous nature of the trigger (a couple of French athletes strolling past with coffee thermoses in their hands), Gordon felt the fires of frustration rekindle. He'd been looking forward to snatching some peace and quiet out in the fresh air before the compound once again became a hive of activity. The hour for breakfast and lunch were the only times where this was possible given the ten o'clock curfew he was under, courtesy of being a minor.

Knowing that he was likely to forget altogether if he delayed the job in any way, Gordon huffed and spun on his heel before storming back over towards the cafeteria, deciding that it would be easier to simply bat his eyelashes at one of the nice ladies behind the counter instead of braving the on-site convenience store. He had no idea what the market was for lactose free milk in Africa, plus knew that he'd inevitably end up with fifty bucks worth of useless junk without Grandma or one of his brothers to supervise him. He was following a strict high carb diet, and both Sam and Scott would flay him if he dared to deviate so close to his opening race.

As luck would have it, the lady who'd served him his breakfast mere minutes ago was more than happy to gift him a massive carton of almond milk. While it wasn't his preferred choice (that honour went to oat milk), Gordon nonetheless thanked her profusely and began the short journey back to his accommodation block, tucking the container under his jacket to protect it from the heat of the African sun.

Upon entering the shade of the lobby area, Gordon helped himself to a sharpie pen from the complimentary jar on the reception desk (one of the perks of being an Olympic qualifier) and began to absently scrawl his name on the side of the carton as his feet carried him up the stairs. Scott's suggestion of labelling his stuff was probably wise, considering he didn't have a fridge in his room and would have to store his perishables in the communal one in the shared kitchen. While he'd probably be able to get away with drinking regular milk and necking his lactose tablets, his brother's warning about them flagging on a drugs test served as a suitable deterrent. He'd never risked it in a competitive environment before, and certainly wasn't about to start now.

One stored carton of milk and a five minute backtrack later, and Gordon found himself at the grassy area he'd originally set his sights on. The compound was still reasonably quiet as breakfast continued to take centre stage, giving him the headspace he needed to plonk himself down and reflect on his exchange with Virgil. While he knew his brother's intentions came from the best possible place, he felt no guilt over his decision to shut the engineer down before he'd gone into full-blown lecture mode. The family were always quick to credit Scott as the bossy one, but Virgil came in an extremely close second whenever Gordon was involved. In fact, his tendency to over interfere could be downright infuriating at times.

Didn't stop Gordon from sending over the sunrise snaps he'd captured earlier, however.

-x-

One of the many perks of arriving on scene before the majority of the other competitors was that Gordon got to see the true scale of the effort that went into making the Olympic Games the Olympic Games.

Physiotherapists, caterers, lifeguards, security personnel, stewards, and countless members of the organising committee were all running around like demented chickens, armed to the teeth with headsets, clipboards, lanyards, and official Nairobi 2053 pens.

Gordon drank it all in. The atmosphere was a welcome distraction from his talk with Virgil, and chatting with different staff members in a bid to find out as much 'behind the scenes' information as possible soon overtook his preoccupation with making friends. The organisers were only too happy to field the multitude of questions that he had. One of the Swahili translators in particular seemed to have taken a real shine to his impish smile and boyish charm.

Buoyed by the confidence acquired through his little bit of networking, Gordon threw himself into the pre-race routine Sam had prescribed with unrestrained gusto. He ate like a champion, trained like a champion, and thought like a champion. His concern over earning the respect of his senior teammates receded into the background as he devoted himself wholeheartedly to what was and would forever be the highlight of his career. Few people had ascended to his level of excellence at such a young age, and it was with a suitable amount of pride that Gordon bid farewell to his brotherly blues and fixed his crosshairs on the Olympic podium.

So delighted was Sam with his protégé's battle-ready mindset that he sent a polite request to the Tracy family asking that Gordon not be disturbed with domestic matters until after the Games had concluded. An exception was made for Alan, since his phone calls were never urgent and the fallout from not being able to contact his favourite brother simply wasn't worth the trouble, however the other three, plus Grandma and Kayo, were effectively banned from corresponding with Gordon for the next three weeks. They were still permitted to attend and support him in person during his scheduled races, however family reunions before and after each one were strictly off the cards.

Any reservations Gordon had about the aforementioned agreement were drowned out by the upcoming excitement of the flag bearer announcements for the Opening Ceremony. Bearers were usually chosen by the Olympic Committee several months in advance of the games starting, however a failed anti-doping check had meant that the USA was opening nominations for a second flag bearer, and in an exciting turn of events, responsibility for shortlisting and voting had been given to the athletes instead of the sporting agencies. While Gordon knew he wasn't famous enough to be eligible for such an honour, he was still eager to play his part and get involved.

His first instinct upon learning about the change had been to call his brothers and ask if any of them had anyone in particular who they'd like him to vote for. Alan was fond of skateboarding, but was too young to either know or care that much about the identities of the people he watched, while Virgil didn't get the same competitive rush that others got from following a particular sport. Scott and John however were big fans of tennis and archery respectively, and would no doubt want to influence Gordon's choice if given the opportunity.

Unfortunately Sam's communication ban worked both ways, and Gordon too was forbidden from initiating any family contact until he'd finished his last race. It was a harsh expectation, but not an unkind one. Sam had worked with Gordon for several years and knew that the risk of him succumbing to homesickness and separation anxiety would increase tenfold if he was allowed to maintain a direct link with home. Experience had taught them both that it was much easier to disconnect on both a physical and emotional level whenever a big competition was afoot. And the Olympics was the biggest of them all.

Thankfully, Virgil's screenshot of the sunset painting he'd started work on managed to slip through the net before the ban came into full effect.