“Okay.” He stands and takes my hand to help me up.
This time, the anxiety-ridden quiet is replaced by companionable silence. His muscles are still tight as we move down the path, but the tension between us isn’t there. It’s just Garrett’s standard mode of wanting to keep me safe.
Just as I know my insecurities prickle beneath my skin like a threatening thundercloud, so do his. It’s how we deal with them that matters. Difficulties will come; neither of us can prevent them. The way we take shelter in one another gives me hope that together we can weather any storm.
24
MILE TWENTY-FOUR
WITHOUT YOU
With a deep inhale, I close my eyes and immerse myself in the scene. The cacophony of cheering voices and noise makers—with their thunks, chimes, and whistles—singing around me. Downtown Buffalo hums with pre-race activity. The cool air, a hint of moisture in it from the rain forecasted for later today, whispers against my skin.
As much as an electric charge zings through me, my stomach knots. I’m about to run my first half-marathon. In so many ways, the build to get here has taken so long. Anker, Sonora, and the other runners in the group talk about this. Each sharing that as they trained for their first marathon, the build to the middle took the longest, but the rest happened in the blink of an eye. Before I know it, it will be marathon race day.
This is also my last race with Garrett. After today, I start training with Anker, whose ankle is healed, allowing him to get back to his daily runs. It’s bittersweet. It means we’re on the last leg of this journey which will—hopefully—see Anker and me cross the finish line together.
“How are you doing?” Garrett loops his arms around my middle and tucks me against him.
“Anxious. Excited”—I scrunch my nose—“I think I have to pee.”
He chuckles. “Those are the nerves, but maybe we hit the bathroom before we start. Remember, we can take breaks if you need them during the race.”
Throughout the course, stations are set up where people provide water, or for quick bathroom breaks. Downtown Buffalo is transformed for today’s half-marathon. We flew in earlier in the week to give me a chance to check out some of the work Bryce does with Boundless, his nonprofit, and to do some sightseeing.
He and his husband, Marshall, have played our tour guides over the last few days. For the first “meet the family” interaction, it’s going well. Granted, this isn’t our first meeting, but it’s in a different capacity. Our previous interactions were brief, and then, I was just Anker’s sister. Now, I’m Garrett’s girlfriend.
Buffalo is also a new city for Kayla to explore. She, Catherine, and Anker flew in with us to sightsee before today’s race. The ladies, Bryce, and Anker are positioned at the finish line to livestream our crossing to my parents.
It’s strange to think about how loneliness used to twinge inside me. As I’ve become more balanced in my relationship with myself, recognizing those old fears for what they are—lies—I’m able to better appreciate the people in my life. I still feel lucky to have them, but now recognize that I deserve their love just as I am.
Their love and support envelop me as tightly as Garrett’s hand as we stroll toward the starting line. This race is triple the size of the fun run races we’ve entered. The race’s roar makes the cheering at the 10Ks sound like a kitten’s purr. Despite incorporating loud rock music blaring in my earbuds during my solo treadmill runs—a strategy recommended by several blind runners in the group to mentally prepare for this volume—mynerves twitch. The sensation is akin to being submerged in the deep end while someone shouts down to you from the surface. You’re aware that someone’s speaking, but it’s more like a feeling prickling beneath your skin, rather than actually hearing anything.
It's only temporaryis the mantra I tell myself as Garrett and I transition from our initial power walk into a slow jog during the first several minutes of our run. Where there are loud pockets sprinkled along the 10K courses we’ve already run, this is more consistent. Spectators appear to be camped out along the first mile of the course.
Their presence causes me to pull tight on the rope, keeping myself snug with Garrett. Tucked up against the far right of the course, the spectators with their hoots and clanging cowbells seem like they’re right next to me. It makes me stiffen and tighten my grip. Even if I know they’re there, my hackles still rise. It’s like being on the cliffside with Garrett again, only instead of tumbling to my death, it’s people I worry about. How is that scarier?
Just people, I mouth. Yes, people are scary. They can hurt you in all the ways. Haven’t I experienced so many of those ways already? I’ve been mocked, used, discarded, and ignored by people.
I’ve also been cared for, befriended, guided, and just loved by people. With any human interaction there’s the threat that a few steps to the right, you fall, and a few steps to the left you’re safe and supported. Just like with that cliffside, it’s about balance—trusting myself, and the people around me.
I loosen the slack just a bit.
Garrett tugs twice, causing my mouth to lift in a smile. Those two tugs telegraph his “You got this.” My two tugs back reply my response: We got this.
“Rockstar!” Anker hoots, lifting me into a swinging hug as Garrett and I cross the finish line into a small park full of spectators and runners milling about.
I did it!Somehow, this is even better than completing the two 10Ks. I’m not sure why I am shocked. For the last few weeks, Garrett and I’ve consistently jogged/power walked 13.1 miles once a week. Other runners talk about this. It never gets old. Each race is like a new mountain climbed.
“Easy! If you break her, I’ll kick your ass,” Garrett laughingly grumbles.
“Your boyfriend is so protective,” Anker teases, placing me back on my feet.
“That he…eep—” The breath wooshes out of me as both Kayla and Catherine slam into me, squealing as they hug me tight.
“Seriously, be careful with her. I’d like her undamaged for later.”
“Is someone jealous we’re not fussing over them?” Anker makes a mock-cooing sound.
