“Uncle,” I whine, tugging on the rope for him to slow.
“O—kay,” he pants, slowing to a power walk.
Other runners call out, “On your left,” as they breeze past us.
Hands on my waist, I gulp up air. We just passed the fifteen-mile marker, meaning there are 11.2 more to go. We’re over halfway, which should buoy me, but it taunts. Pain radiates through every inch of me. All I want is to lay down on and claim the pavement as my new permanent home because once I stop moving, I won’t be able to get back up again.
But you can’t, a quiet voice somewhere inside me says. As distant as the finish line feels, it’s also so close. Not close enough to reach out and touch, but within my grasp. All I have to do is just keep running. Just keep going for what I want.
“It’s your call.” He sucks in a deep breath. “But I know you’ve got this.”
We could stop. There are points along the course for runners to do just that. But I realize I don’t want to. Even if my body protests, my heart isn’t listening.
Whether I run, walk, or am carried piggyback, all that matters is that I finish. My mouth ticks up, thinking of Garrett’s encouragement during our first 10K. Months later, I’m 11.2 miles away from the finish line of my first marathon. Even if I never run another one, I’ll have this.
I grin. “Onward.”
“We got this.” He tugs twice.
We power walk for a few miles before we ramp back into a slow jog. We teeter between power walking and jogging as wemake our way through the course. The entire way, Anker and I cheer each other on. When he wants to stop, I nudge him, and vice versa.
“Twenty-six!” he shouts.
The roar from the gathered crowd almost drowns him out. I can’t believe we’re .2 miles away. I blink rapidly as if waking from a dream. How is this happening? How did I go from teasing Anker about the Larsen lore to this? I don’t know if I’m a devout believer, like my brother, but I am no longer a skeptic.
Six years ago, Garrett and I met, but didn’t find each other until the night before Anker was supposed to leave to run a marathon the year he turned thirty. As much as I want to believe we were on a trajectory to one another, I wonder if the first five years of our relationship were fate’s way of giving us the time and space we needed on our healing journeys.
The day after a marathon, you do a recovery run. It nourishes and aids in your muscles recovery after the exertion, wear, and tear of running 26.2 miles. In so many ways, my relationship with Garrett is reminiscent of that, soothing the ache of what we’ve both been through.
Though maybe the Larsen lore isn’t just about finding the love of your life, but also yourself. My uncles and father have shared that was the time in their life when the fogginess of their future cleared. They didn’t just meet their partners, but started on their own personal journeys of happiness. My dad with the bakery. Uncle Christian became a teacher. Uncle Anders opened a bookshop.
The last ten months may have led me to Garrett, but more importantly, they have led me to myself. I’m stronger. I’m able to push past the boundaries I set for myself. I know what I want, and I’m not scared to let myself have it.
“Finish line!” Anker calls out.
I answer with three quick tugs of the rope, indicating to speed up. I will not walk across this finish line. Slack loosened, I steady my breath as much as possible and pick up my pace. My running shoes slap against the pavement. The cheers, hoots, and noise makers are a delicious song ringing in my ears.
“Endgame!” Anker’s shout is breathless.
“Yes!” I cry out, tears tumbling from my eyes. I don’t hold them back. They blend with the sweat coating my face.
“We did it!” Anker wraps his arms around me.
Breathless laughter. Tears. Obscenities. It all belts out of us.
“We did it!” I sob. “I did it.”
Even if Anker was with me every step of the way, this is my victory. For so long, I held myself back from the things I wanted. No more. With the trust in the people who love me, including myself, I can cross any finish line.
“So proud of us.” Anker kisses my forehead. “Here comes your man. I’m going to go stretch and then find Sonora.”
“You mean…my future sister-in-law…” I huff breathlessly.
“Smartass.” He balls up the rope and places it in my hands before walking away.
“Baby!” Garrett jogs over and lifts me into his arms. “Look at you, pretty girl. You did it.”
“I did.” I sniffle and wrap my arms around his neck.
“I love you so much.” Garrett presses his lips to my forehead.
“Just think how much you’re going to love me after we run London’s marathon?” I say breathlessly.
“Pretty girl, I plan to fall a little bit more in love with you after each race we run.”
“Good plan.” I press my smirk against his.
The End.
