"Fuck it. Fine. Tell me what to do, Coach, and I'll do it."
Coach.I fucking like that.
"Yeah?"
"Don't make me second guess this." She warns with a raised eyebrow and I laugh.
"Fair point. Okay, give me your number."
"So demanding." She laughs as I pull up my contacts to add a new one.
She rattles off her number and I save it.
"I’ll text you a full plan later but do your recovery ride tomorrow and on Monday we’ll meet at Montrose Beach for a swim."
"Okay." She agrees.
"What are you doing for recovery today?"
"You’re looking at it." She holds up the banana and bottle of water from the finishers area.
"You really should replenish your carbohydrate and fat reserves." I tell her but see her shutting down my advice. "Honestly, my favorite way to do it is with ice cream."
"You eat ice cream?" She asks, eyeing my body.
"After TP races? Hell yes."
She laughs. "I’ll take your word for it."
"I’ll do you one better than that." I pop my elbow out for her to link hers into.
Is holding her arm and helping her gather her items from the T1 and T2 staging areas part of my newly appointed role as her coach?
Debatable.
But I can’t deny it. I am invested in her, feel protective of her. And, I want to make sure she cools down well, takes care of herself. An added bonus? I get to treat her to some ice cream.
This is not how I expected today to go but the deviation from the routine isn’t as upsetting as I thought it would be.
Chapter seven
Laney
Each Stroke Warms You Up
Walkingdownstairsisstill brutal as my quads and hamstrings recover but walking, and pedaling, is easy enough. Yesterday, I was still in pain but it was an emotional breakdown that did the most damage.
I was standing in the kitchen, making a packet of oatmeal for dinner, when suddenly I couldn’t stop crying. The oatmeal had made me think of the breakfast Miguel ordered to his hotel room. Which made me think about how delicious it was to sleep in his bed. Which made me hate myself a little bit. Which made me think of how being so discouraged over how my shoes failed me meant I missed the “Laney Matteson you are a TitaniumPerson!” announcement.
Dee came back from the store and found me slumped against the kitchen table with congealed oatmeal in front of me. I asked her to find my results on the website and take a screenshot of the finisher designation. I managed to set it as my phone’s wallpaper, and even though I can’t see all the details clearly through the spiderweb cracks, I know it’s there.
After she reheated the oatmeal for me, and made herself a sandwich, she took me to buy new sneakers. I bought a more expensive pair than I would have before I had free training lined up.
And with the bright blue box tucked under my arm, Dee made us stop to pick up popcorn and red licorice for a teen-drama-marketed-to-adults marathon. Nothing says this is a celebration of me and my endurance sport accomplishment like five hours of one ridiculous plot twist after another.
Today I woke up feeling more refreshed. And, unbelievably, I feel ready to train again. Iwantto get into the water and push myself. Indianapolis is four weeks away and I don’t have any time to lose.
Lake Michigan looks fucking freezing though. Somehow my body knows without testing the water. Sure, the indoor pools run by the park district are far from heated but the idea of jumping into the open water at Montrose Beach today isn’t much more appealing.
