Speaking of Alistair

The two coaches stood side by side in the center of the outdoor field, as they watched their students run around the track. Marta Barry was glad that today was a test day. For some reason, she wasn't feeling herself. It was as if she was less flexible, less mobile. She just felt bulkier. For his part, Alistair Burlington couldn't seem to shake the feeling that his partner shouldn't be two full heads taller than him. He liked to be in control, and he felt as though he didn't have the air of authority today that he normally had. So he compensated. Anyone who looked like they were lagging got an immediate earful from him. To Alistair's pleasure, his voice seemed to be getting deeper and more powerful with every lazy bum he yelled at. By the third kid, his voice was a strong baritone, and his posture had shifted to a stouter, more authoritative one. Very quickly, out of necessity, his voice had become clearer, louder, and more forceful than Mark's had ever been, but he still looked like a joke next to the tank of Marta, when his eyes glazed over and he started walking off of the field. Nobody seemed to notice.