PROLOGUE | Laney
Once upon a time, about three years ago…
"Youwouldn’tdenyyourfather his dying wish."
Despite the tears pooling along my lash line, I roll my eyes. "No, Dad. I’m just questioning why it’s so important to you."
He lets out a huff of a laugh, in it I can feel the acceptance of his fate, the pain in each cell of his body, and something else I’m afraid to name.
"Because, I saw you give up on something you love before really giving it a chance."
There it is, too obvious to deny its presence any longer.
Disappointment.
In me, for not following through on my endurance running career.
"Dad, I got hurt."
"So." His argument is strong despite his weakened body.
"I didn’t make the Olympic Team."
"Like that matters. Bunch of scrap metal that was."
"Dad!" I scold thinking about the silver medal framed in our family room. Wondering if my mom will want it or if I am going to inherit it turns my stomach sour.
"What?" He coughs and it echoes through the room. How had this happened so quickly? A year ago he was running triathlons. Thirty years ago he was competing in the Olympics. And six years ago he sat where I am now, listening to a team doctor tell me a stress fracture in my left foot would keep me home from the Olympic Trials.
"Dad, being a silver medalist was like, everything."
"It wasn’t. Trust me."
I’m having trouble processing his insistence that he didn’t dedicate his life to being a top triathlete. Maybe the view from death’s door casts memories in different shades of delusion.
I fuss with the corner of the blanket on his hospital bed. The blue is heartbreakingly optimistic.
After several moments of his labored breathing filling the room, I whisper, "I don’t understand why you are asking me to compete in triathlons."
"Because if at first you don’t succeed…"
"Tri, tri, tri again." I chorus with him. He smiles and then breaks into another cough. I can’t look at him as he struggles to get the air in and out of his lungs.
"Laney," his soft voice pulls me back. "I regret not pushing you back into the sport sooner. But you were so upset after the injury, I just let you drop it. You’re like your mother that way."
His comparison clamps an iron cage around my heart. "How so?"
My tone is abrasive. I don’t want to be angry with him but I don’t want to be compared to the woman who pitted herself against my father’s dreams. I’m struggling to hold basic conversations with her these days. Seeing her grieve a husband she never supported hurts more than my stress fracture ever did.
"You encountered a setback and let it be the final word."
I don’t have a response.
Missing the trials after dedicating half my life to getting there is more than asetback.
"You’re a natural athlete Laney. You would have not only made the team but would have contended. I have no doubt. It was shitty timing. But," he takes a labored breath. "I didn’t force you out on all those swims, bike rides, and runs with me for nothing. You could be great. You could rise to the top of the sport. I don’t think you should limit yourself to triathlons."
"Oh no?" I laugh. "What should I do then if a triathlon is too easy?"
