CHAPTER 1
AARON
My lungs burn with every step, but I refuse to stop. Not now. Not when I’m so close. The urge to check my watch is overwhelming, but I somehow keep my focus on the road ahead. At this point, it doesn’t matter what the time is, as long as I finish.
Who am I kidding? It definitely matters what the time is. There’s just nothing I can do about it now. The finish line is in sight, so I reach deep down into myself and search for a little bit of extra energy to latch onto. At this point in the race, I don’t have a lot left, but deep inside, there’s always more. I start repeating my mantra over and over in my head.This pain is temporary. This pain is temporary. This pain is temporary.
Given the quizzical look I get from another runner, I might be saying it less in my head and more out loud. Doesn’t matter. All that matters right now is getting through the last bit of this race.
Seconds feel like minutes to my exhausted muscles, but eventually, I cross the finish line, reaching down to stop mywatch as I step over the timing mat. As a wave of nausea hits, I take a deep breath to slow my heart rate. Hands over my head, resting on top of my hat, I walk slowly toward the volunteers handing out medals and water. I bypass the first. I have enough medals at home to decorate every wall of my condo and then some. My new rule is only to take the ones from meaningful races. Or marathons.
The volunteer gives me a strange look, but I shake my head again, still too winded to speak. There are too many people coming through for her to argue with me, so instead, she offers the medal to another runner, one who takes it with great enthusiasm, even giving her a sweaty hug.
Gross.
I’m more than happy to take the cold water from a volunteer, dumping half of it over my head and gulping down the other half. Thankfully, these spring races usually aren’t too hot, only a bit warm. This morning started cool, but as the sun came out at the mid-point, it warmed up quickly. Once free of the throngs of people, I find a grassy spot in the park to sit down. It’s a mistake, I know that, but I need to get off my feet for a few minutes before I make my way back to the car.
While I catch my breath and massage my calf, I watch as other runners find their loved ones. Their enthusiasm is infectious as they tell the tale of the race, recounting all the most challenging moments and showing off their medals. Most are laughing, a few are crying.
A wave of emotion hits me. I’m alone.
Not that my friends wouldn’t come—they have, many times—but I don’t invite them. At least not anymore. Standing around, waiting for me to finish, especially in shitty weather, isn’t exactly a good time. If it was once a year, then it might not be a big ask, but I do a bunch of these local 5 and 10Ks.
Matthias used to come to all my races, spending more Saturdays than I can count waiting for me to finish. He never once complained about it, in part because that’s the kind of friend he is. He’d drive and chatter the whole way home about how incredible it was that I could do that, asking questions about the race and my strategy.
Eventually, I begged him to stop. I don’t know exactly why I did it. It was a Tuesday night, and we were sitting in his living room, watching some stupid movie and drinking beer. Maybe I had one too many. Maybe the movie made me soft. Either way, I told him not to come to the race that weekend. He looked so hurt when I said it, like I’d kicked his puppy. I backpedaled a bit, giving him a whole spiel about how they weren’t as important to me anymore and that I didn’t want him giving up so much of his time standing around. It’s not like he could even watch the majority of the race. If he went out on the course, at best, he got to see more for a whole five seconds.
He pushed back, but I held firm. Telling him that I wanted him at one each year and no more.
I’m not sure he bought it, but he did respect my wishes—typical Matthias.
As more people filter across the finish line, the park starts to fill with all the runners and their families. If I don’t head out soon, there’ll be traffic to contend with on the drive home. Since I wanted time to do my recovery regimen before reporting to work for a shift at three this afternoon, I need to get going.
Oh God. I grimace as I try to get up. I knew it was a bad idea to sit down. My muscles have cooled and frozen in their position. Every part of my body is stiff and unmoving.
“Need a hand?” Another runner reaches out his hand toward me. He’s sweaty and wearing his medal around his neck, the ribbon twisted.
“Please.” I reach up and clasp his hand, letting him help me off the ground. “Thanks. Not sure I would have made it without you,” I say once I’m on my feet. It’s going to be a tough walk, but at least I’m vertical.
“No problem. Great job out there.” It’s standard small talk, the kind of thing we all say to each other after a race.
“Yeah, you, too.” I give him a once-over. He’s taller than me, with thick dark curls. He’s got a runner’s body with well-defined quads and calves. Objectively, he’s good-looking, but he doesn’t do anything for me. I sigh. It’d be nice to have someone to share my hobbies with. At least then I’d have someone to go to these races with and wouldn’t feel like I was infringing on their whole day by asking them to be here.
“There you are.” Another guy approaches us, and I try to place him, thinking he’s talking to me. “I’ve been looking for you. The app said you’d finished, but I didn’t see you.”
“Sorry,” my helper says. “I snuck through the line so I wouldn’t get trapped behind people.” He leans in and kisses the newcomer.
Whelp. Never mind that one. Not that I was really attracted to him. He’s gorgeous, but there wasn’t a spark.
“Thanks for the help,” I mumble, trying not to interrupt their moment. I sneak off in the general direction of the parking garage.
“I’m so proud of you. Tell me everything.” I overhear.
Fuck. I’m not usually emotional after races. Lots of people are, the combination of chemical process and exhaustion, but I’ve never quite had that. At least until today. Hearing the two of them feels like a knife twist to the heart.
I walk slowly, unable to do anything else, to my car and get it, pulling the snacks and drinks I left for post-race from the backseat. That’s what I need. Some protein and sugar. Both ofthose will help stabilize whatever I’m feeling and help me put myself back together.
OLIVER
