Because if you’re found, you’ll have to answer questions. Likewhyare you sleeping in a car in a creepy as fuck parking lot surrounded by national forrest land in southern Tennessee?
I’m doing it because I can’t afford a hotel room.
Tomorrow's race is the first of three regional qualifiers this season and if I podium, I earn a spot at the TP World Championships. Each up-rank I earn gets me that much closer to a sponsorship which is the only thing that will make all the effort and time and money already spent worth it.
And, oh yeah, I can’t let my dad down. Again.
My stomach twists with the especially noxious combination of anxiety and adrenaline.
The drive from Chicago was fine, I made a couple extra stops to stretch and jog laps around the rest areas. I have an alarm set for four thirty tomorrow morning so I have time to get over to the race and get set up. Registration today was simple. I got my gear bags, bib, my age category swim cap in neon green, and the number tag for my upgraded bike.
The new-to-me bike is easily 6 lbs lighter than my old one because of its carbon frame. It’s last year’s model but the guy at the shop assured me the design didn’t change drastically with the new release this year.
On the test ride, I clipped in and fucking flew.
At this point, I value this thing more than my life.
Leaving it in the transition area tonight was nerve-racking. I have barely let the thing out of my sight since I got it.
I’m counting on this bike to help me tighten up my time in the second discipline.
In the swim, all I can do is try to swim faster, in the run, same thing. But in the bike leg, I can upgrade my equipment and see an improvement without having to train any harder.
I spent more time practicing my transitions since the half TP because my times were atrocious. I saw a lot of people usingrubber bands to keep things in place on their bikes so I swiped a few from the restaurant last night.
My diet has been okay, probably a few too many shift meals from Dee, but I enjoyed my dinner tonight and have a plan for breakfast tomorrow.
Sleeping in the backseat of a car probably won't help my body perform at it’s best tomorrow but I'll just do a few extra stretches in the morning to loosen up.
I glance around the lot again and make sure no one is around to see me settle in. I’m not ashamed of my choices, but I’m not proud either. And who knows if there’s some crazy local law against sleeping in your car.
I get out and wrap myself in a blanket. It isn't supposed to get too cold overnight but I can't afford to run the car for an extra blast of heat and waste the gas so I need to bundle up. Doing my best impression of a burrito with feet, I slide into the backseat and fluff the pillow I brought from home with my shoulders.
Okay, you’re sleeping in a car. In a parking lot. In a rural town outside of Chattanooga. Everything’s fine.
I squeeze my eyes shut and try to forget every vulnerable-girl-gets-attacked or, gulp, unalived story I've ever read or watched on TV.
And Dee and I listen to true-crime podcasts while cleaning the apartment and then watch murder shows to relax at the end of the day so there's a lot of stories to push out of my mind.
Maybe after my next paycheck I'll buy some mace.
Probably should have done that a long time ago because I am up early to run and out late making deliveries. All with an unreliable phone.
Okay, fine, in the dim lights of this parking lot I can safely admit, I haven't made the safest choices.
But greatness doesn't come from playing it safe.
My fingers are falling asleep so I sit up and try to make sure I have better blood flow as I curl up in the car. I flop my head back and roll it from side to side a bit to get more comfortable.
BAM!
I bolt upright and gasp for air as panic courses through my veins.
"Laney, open up!"
I turn my blanket cocooned body, arms pinned inside and thus unable to defend myself, towards the window.
"Miguel?"
