That’s a lie. I know what compelled my feet to fly around another thirteen miles of Chattanooga’s riverwalk.
Laney.
It’s like my legs knew I needed to be back in time to see her finish.
Today's event is a qualifier and a top ten result means she has an automatic entry to the invitational later in the year that will determine pro status. We didn’t talk about it long but I get thesense she wants to earn her card this year. She almost sounded disappointed when I told her it took me two seasons to get it. She’s only in her third season so she’s still new to the sport.
Why is she putting so much pressure on herself?
I push myself towards the finish area and the board shows the elite athlete's times as they go. Then, it flashes a few key times for age-group athletes at the end of each discipline.
After the bike, Laney was third.
The run is a full 26.2 mile marathon and it's been three hours since the bike leg finished so I expect to see her turning the final corner to the straight leading up to the finish line any minute.
I don’t know her average pace or what her target pace is but she was quick when we raced along the lakeshore path.
The sun is blaring down so I lift my hand to shade my eyes as I keep them on the turn where the road curves away from the river. It's hot too. One of the benefits of being in the elite group is you typically finish before the sun has a chance to turn up the heat in the late afternoon.
It was easily five degrees cooler when I was running and it made all the difference.
I hope she’s okay.
I didn't see what she ate for breakfast besides my one piece of toast. I pray she found something more than the granola bars and processed dessert I saw in the back seat.
It would be weird to ask if she has a hotel room booked in Indianapolis right?
Because if she doesn’t, I’d love to recreate last night.
Yeah, I can’t ask her that.
Second chances are few and far between, I know that better than anyone, and I don't want to push it with Laney.
Sunlight glimmers like a halo over the blonde head of hair as Laney rounds the corner.
Her form looks strong, anyone would be tired after 140 miles and over nine hours of racing but she's still standing up straight, leaning slightly forward using her body weight to propel her forward, her footfalls rotating in an easy cadence.
Except.
No way.
She's not wearing shoes.
I lift my sunglasses and squint into the distance to confirm.
Yep, no shoes. Just socks.
I scan up to her face and see the firm set of her jaw and her laser focus on the finish line. A few other women are ahead of her and I think a few more were ahead of them. I wasn't paying attention.
I have no idea where she is in the standings.
But running in socks probably isn't helping.
There are a few family members cheering along the gates and I listen for anyone saying her name. No one seems to be calling to her specifically. As she gets closer, fifty yards to go, I clap and yell out, "Let's go Laney! Finish strong!"
Her head whips side-to-side until her eyes lock with mine. I clap again, yelling "c'mon!"
She nods and turns back to the race, she picks up her pace by a hair, good to know she still has something in the tank, and I walk behind the gathered crowd in pace with her as she reaches the line.
