A deca event will demand ten full TPs in ten days. Recovery will mean something entirely different than what I’m used to.
But, if my life has taught me anything so far, there’s no growth without pain. There’s no way around it, only through.
I’m eating the remaining piece of toast and stretching my hip flexors when Laney comes out of the bathroom with just a towel wrapped around her body and her blonde hair piled on top of her head in a messy bun. I lose count of my stretch wishing the scrap of white terrycloth would somehow slip.
“I was thinking about you in the shower.” The toast feels like a handful of sand in my mouth. “And, I think I said thank you last night for letting me crash, but if I didn’t, thank you.”
Her wide smile reaches the corners of her bright blue eyes and I find myself nodding in her direction. Assuming it’s been a full sixty seconds of the stretch I switch sides.
“Be right back!” She calls as she waves a swimsuit in her fist. “Changing in a hotel bathroom is much preferable to the port-a-potty I planned to use at the race.”
Her laughter follows her into the bathroom and the toast turns to wet concrete. She was planning to change in a port-a-potty at the race? I cannot fathom how that is her best option.
“Oh that’s a good idea,” Laney says as she steps out of the bathroom again in a swimsuit and sees me doing some leg swings with my hand braced on the dresser. She drops her t-shirt and underwear into her duffle, the panties not making it allthe way in and taunting me from their crumpled position on the zipper.
She props a hand on the wall and starts to wildly swing her leg back and forth.
Again, I lose track of my time and possibly rush the switch. But turning my back to her gives me a break from the constant motion, energy, and temptation.
“So, why is World Champion Miguel Garcia running this regional TP today?” She asks and her voice sounds further away, I turn over my shoulder and see she’s turned away to swing her other leg in a large arc.
“It’s a warm up of sorts.” I tell her.
“For what?”
“Keep me in the swing of things.”
“Funny.”
“What is?”
“Swing of things, and we’re doing leg swings.”
“Ah.”
“The half a few weeks ago was my warm up. Today, I have to finish. Ideally high enough to qualify for Worlds.” She says this as I turn around to face her. But she’s still facing away from me but now, she’s bent over reaching down to her toes. Her pert backside popped up in the air, the gusset of her swimsuit becoming a black hole for my attention.
I swallow hard. Instead of visualizing the race, I am seeing something else entirely in my mind’s eye.
She continues like she has no idea the way her body is beckoning to mine.
“But, since I haven’t finished a full TP before, I am also signed up for Indianapolis and Chicago to make sure I give myself a chance to qualify.”
“That’s a full race calendar.” I manage to say as she straightens.
My watch beeps between us and I realize my routine has been completely derailed by Laney Matteson’s presence.
“I should go, I need to grab my breakfast from the car.” She says as she takes a sip of the coffee I poured for myself. “Mmm, so good.”
“Laney,” I start and she freezes. The contrast of her stillness to her usual constant motion is jarring. Advice sits on the tip of my tongue. I want to mention the small tweaks she can make in her transitions to help tighten them up. To tell her to run her race, keep her pace, do her best, and see where she lands. To ask if she wants me to stick around to cheer her on to the finish line because I can’t fucking resist her. “Good luck.”
“Thanks Miguel. You too.”
And with that she slings her bag over her shoulder and leaves me alone with my breakfast and the remaining scraps of my pre-race ritual.
Training for the Deca means I tack more onto the end of every race I run. And today, I ran one of my fastest paced half marathons after the full length TitaniumPerson race.
I’m not entirely sure why I could go so quickly.
