I swallow down every protest whispering inside me. “I’ve researched some training plans.”
I’m not Feisty Jensen. At least, not yet. I want to be, but right now, the desire to see what real friendship with Garrett looks like is too strong. My head and heart are at war. For the first time, I’m going to listen to my heart, because in the past I always heeded my head’s warning to not take risks. A friendship with Garrett may be a bigger risk than finding someone unknown to train with.
“I’ve been doing research too.” He flips his hat backwards, revealing a lopsided grin that I find far too adorable. “Shall we compare notes and make a plan?”
“You’re sure about this?”
“Yes,” he says without a hint of hesitation.
I bite my lower lip. “Does guide runner services come with grilled PB&Js?”
“Perhaps…”
For the next hour, we build a training plan. The little charge that zinged between us dissipates as we fall into comfortable companionship. He teases me about my collection of novelty mugs, and I tell him I don’t take style advice from a man dressed like sporty Wednesday Adams in all black athletic wear. Pressed up against him—thanks to my not-Garrett-sized sofa—a smile curls my lips watching him drink from a penguin shaped mug while I drink from a polar bear cup I got at the aquarium.
We compare our notes. Mine are on my laptop and his on his phone. It appears we found a lot of the same plans. We choose a program broken into three phases.
The first three to four months will focus on base building, helping me gradually develop my ability to run longer distances.Phase two is training for a half-marathon. The last four months will focus on the big show—an actual marathon. Each phase comes with me running races to help me get comfortable with the racing environment. All our training will culminate next October, just under twelve months from now.
Depending on the phase, I’ll be training three to five times a week. Garrett and my schedule won’t allow us to always train together. We settle on Wednesdays after work and Sunday afternoons, allowing me to keep my lazy Sunday mornings and him to attend dinner with his family. The rest of the week, I’ll train solo on the treadmill in my building’s gym.
“I’m creating a shared calendar for our training, which I’ll e-mail you,” Garrett says, tapping on his phone.
“Ooh,a shared calendar. Can I put other things in it for you to do?”
“No,” he grunts.
“Boo!” I pout but decide I’ll do it anyway.
Perhaps I’ll set up a daily reminder for him to smile more. There will certainly be a reminder for him to eat lunch, because Anker has shared that most days, Garrett skips it to work with residents. The possibilities are endless.
“I’ve also emailed some links to articles, guides, and videos on stretching and conditioning activities, and other things that may help you in your training.”
“Other things?” Head tilted, I lift one eyebrow.
“Meal plans?—”
“Ugh…” I groan, tipping my head back. “Is marathon running just your elaborate plot to get me to eat more vegetables?”
“You found me out. I orchestrated Anker’s injury to Svengali this entire situation to get you to eat broccoli,” he deadpans.
“Dastardly.” I poke his side and then pull up his e-mail on my laptop.
“The meal plans will help give you the right energy and nutrition needed to do this. Don’t worry, you can still have your lattes.”
Opening the attached document labeledSuggested Mealsin my email, my screen reader begins to read the document. It’s similar to what I know Anker does while training.
“One a day!” I whine, at the little note about limiting me to one latte a day. “You made that one up.” I elbow Garrett.
“You consume far too much sugar.”
“It keeps me sweet.” I kick his shin.
“Nearly diabetic,” he mutters.
A furrow dips my brow. “Guess I shouldn’t complain. All this running and forced starvation will help me lose my snack pouch.”
“This meal plan is hardly starvation?—”
