“Good thing we’re in a hospital.” I smirk.
“You would run a marathon with me?” Anker says, disbelief punctuates his words.
“I would do anything for you.” I meet his eyes, which are the same shade of hazel as mine.
In so many ways, my brother is the complete opposite of me. He’s tall and lean compared to my shorter, plumper figure. He’s the brightness that lights up every room, while I tend to stay tucked up against the wall. Still, we’re both Larsens. We come from a family of helpers. It’s why he’s a doctor, and I got my master’s in social work. Above all, he’s one of my favorite people, and I would do anything to help him. Even run a marathon.
“Jensen, I love you, but you’re not exactly the easiest person to guide run with. We didn’t even make it a mile into that 5K.” He points at me.
He’s not wrong. Guide running involves a lot of trust. Something I tend to struggle with. Human guide isn’t my favorite. There’s always a charge along my nerve endings that I’ll get hurt, left behind, or worse, that I’ll hurt someone else. My cane gives me the control to ensure my own safety. Only running with a cane isn’t safe or practical.
I heave a breath. “Well, I’ll have six months or so to mentally prepare for that while you’re recovering.”
“Because that’s realistic.”
“Have faith.”
“Says the woman whose idea of a marathon is bingingMasterpiece Theatermelodramas.” He shifts on the gurney. “Jensen, you don’t just wake up and run a marathon.”
“I know.” I purse my lips. “I’ll look up some programs and hit the treadmill in my building.”
“It’s so much more than that. Diet. Conditioning. Simulating the race day experience. This isn’t the twenty minutes you do on the elliptical a few times a week. Not to mention the work needed to get you comfortable with being guided for 26.2 miles.”
26.2 miles?I’m aware that marathons are long, but this puts it in perspective. I don’t even think Seal Beach is 26.2 miles in length. How the hell does it have a marathon?
“I appreciate you offering, but I don’t… Unless…” He looks between Garrett and me. “You train her.”
“Excuse me!” I choke out.
“You need to mentally and physically train for this. Garrett is perfect. Not only does he run marathons, but if you can trust him enough to be your guide runner, then there’s hope that this race won’t end with your knee skinned and us walking off the course like last time.”
“I… We can’t… This is a terrible idea.” I gesture wildly.
All the reasons stack up. We’ll argue. I’ll keep crushing on him, even though he’s inappropriate, because of my faulty heart.
“Plus, Garrett is busy and?—"
“I’ll do it,” Garrett says.
7
MILE SEVEN
YOU HAVE A NICE BODY
Sunday mornings are my favorite. I spend most of the day curled up on the sofa, clad in sleep shorts and a hoodie, binging whatever my latest audiobook obsession is. That’s what I should be doing now.
Instead, I stand in my building’s basement gym, glaring at the treadmill. It’s not my exercise equipment of choice. The elliptical offers far more safety with my feet in each paddle, so I don’t have to worry about tripping. On the elliptical, unlike the treadmill, I don’t have to fear pushing the wrong button and the belt turning up so fast that I go sailing off. A thing thathashappened before.
The blind runners’ group I joined recommends training on a treadmill. The group is the same online community for visually impaired runners and guides where Anker met Sonora. Once I got over the sticker shock from the posts about runners doing their second marathon in eight months and running a mile in six minutes, I settled into how helpful the group could be. Sprinkled between celebration posts and links to different race opportunities is a wealth of real-life advice on ways to train for a marathon.
One of which is supplementing the times you can’t train with your guide with the treadmill. They recommend it over the elliptical because it offers a more authentic running experience—allegedly. I think it’s just a form of mental torture.
“Here we go,” I groan my defeat as I step onto the belt. With a deep inhale, I run my fingers over the machine’s flat screen panel.
Unlike the elliptical that sits quietly beside the treadmill, there are no tactile buttons. Even with the buttons, Anker spent extra time to orient me to the machine when I first moved into this building. The only button I can figure out is the large red one below the screen that I assume is the one you press to stop in case of emergency.
“Let’s hope I don’t need that.” I sigh.
