"Yeah, it wasn't great." She shrugs casually but I can see the pain in her tense shoulders. I hate seeing the painful memories in her body language. I would give anything to take the pain away. To carry it for her.
She focuses on making herself another fajita as she speaks. I'm only halfway through my first, having forgotten to eat as Ibecome even more completely drawn to Laney and her story, her composure.
"How'd you get to TP races though? Did you start with a triathlon?"
"Yeah, my umm," she inhales deeply and exhales. "My Dad passed away from cancer. It was rare and really sudden. He ran triathlons, even won a silver medal at The Olympics when he was in his twenties."
"He must have been such a good role model for you."
"He was, yeah, for sure. But after I missed trials, I dunno, I sort of quit." Shadows pass across her face and I want to know why. Laney clears her throat and she continues, "he asked me to get back into it before he died."
"So you did."
"Yeah. But it’s been two and a half years and I’ve got nothing to show for it. I’m out of the little money he left me. No pro card, no ranking, no world championship invitation, no sponsor." Her tone is despondent. The defeat I saw in her after the finish in Chattanooga falls heavily on her shoulders again now.
Was it her dad who had her feeling like she’s not enough exactly as she is?
How can she not give herself credit for how strong she is?
Getting enough points to earn a pro card takes a nearly insane level of commitment. Most people can’t hack it.
But Laney Matteson isn't like most people.
"You'll get it, you're so talented." I insist.
"That's the thing about triathlons though, like everyone can swim, bike, and run. I just happen to do it faster, I guess."
"It's more than that." I tell her and I gaze at her deeply wishing she'd look up from the food she’s moving around her plate. "You have to be crazy."
That earns me a smile and the heavens sing. When her bright blue eyes meet mine, time stops. In them I see her resolve, hervulnerability. I can feel the mutual understanding and respect we’ve built in our short time together. She knows what it takes to excel, even if she hasn’t reached her goal yet.
And there is no doubt in my mind she’ll get there. I can’t be the only one who sees how spectacular she is.
"You know what is crazy," she says and I hum a response, "these fajitas."
I chuckle, and let her off the hook after her confessions. "Thanks, I make them once a week or so. It's actually pretty easy."
"Well then I'll have to come over at least once a week because these are delicious."
My dinner flips in my stomach at the idea of having Laney more often.
The vision of having her with me every day flashes in my mind and I don’t hate it as much as I should.
"So what's the training plan for tomorrow?" She asks when I let the silence linger between us for too long because I’m imagining a life with more Laney in it.
"Well, today was a swim, we could do a VO2bike ride."
"Down to the same coffee shop?" She asks.
"Yeah, that works."
"Okay, let's do it, I liked that place." She takes a final bite. "Do it first thing in the morning?"
"Do what?" I will not let my body be affected by the uninvited image of warm, lazy, morning sex with her in my bed.
"The bike ride." Her smile is feline, she’s not doing a very good job hiding her desires.
But then again, neither am I.
