Gina
After two hours of their unplanned stay at the abandoned hotel, Gina started to understand why solitary confinement was considered torture. The storm showed no signs of abating, and the group dynamics were fraying under the stress of forced proximity and uncertainty.
Brooke had claimed a spot near the hallway where she sat huddled under a blanket from Joe’s truck. She’d finally stopped checking her GPS watch and muttering about her ruined training schedule. Now she stared blankly into the distance, barely participating in anything happening around her.
Gina moved to her side. “You need anything?”
“I need this storm to stop so I can get back out there. Start the trail again and finish it this time.”
“Brooke,” Gina said softly, moving closer to her friend. “The race is still five weeks away. Missing one training run isn’t going to make or break your preparation.”
“You don’t understand.” Brooke’s voice carried an edge of desperation that worried Gina. “Last year, I missed three training runs because of the weather.Three.And I DNF’d at Rendevous. If I’m not perfectly prepared this time, if I don’t hit every single benchmark in my plan, I’ll fail again.”
“That’s not how ultrarunning works,” Joe said from his spot just inside the unzipped tent, where he’d been lying with his eyes closed for the past hour. “Weather happens. Life happens. The best runners are the ones who adapt.”
“Easy for you to say. You’ve never DNF’d in front of everyone you know. Besides, what do you know about ultras? What’s your max distance? A half-marathon? We are not the same.” She lifted her chin and looked away.
“Well,la di da. I may have never gone past a half, but I know plenty about running and runners. I’ve watched the interviews on YouTube and—”
“Oh, puh-leeze.” Brooke waved her hand. “Watching people talk about the pain cave is not the same as actually being in it. You have no idea what it is like to run a hundred miles.”
“Neither do you. You have said yourself, more than once, that you DNF’d. What is your max distance? Forty-eight miles up to Rendevous, or have you ever gone farther?”
“Listen, you . . . you . . . ”
“That’s enough,” Gina interrupted, putting a hand on Brooke’s arm. Brooke pulled it away.
Gina exchanged a concerned glance with Nick, who sat near the camp stove. Brooke’s fixation on her training had always been intense, but this level of rigidity was over the top. At least Brooke had gone quiet, even if it was obvious she was angry.
Kelsey, on the other hand, couldn’t stay still. She made a restless circuit of the room, checking boarded-up windows and pacing with a nervous energy that seemed out of proportion to their situation.
Every few minutes, she paused at one of the windows facing the road and peered through the cracks as if sheer willpower might clear the storm.
“Expecting someone?” Nick asked mildly as she passed by.
“What? No.” Kelsey’s response was defensive. “Just wondering how long this weather will last.”
Gina filed away the odd exchange as she glanced at Joe. His head was near the open door of the tent as he stretched out onNick’s sleeping bag. His face was still flushed and his breathing uneven after hours of rest.
The altitude was hitting him hard, and the stress of their situation wasn’t helping. Poking at Brooke wasn’t like him either. Not that she knew him well, but he’d always been the type to watch what was happening, to observe the dynamics of the others but not insert himself into an argument. She suspected his ability to detach was what made him a good reporter.
Joe had moved to Irma to work on the local paper, but it folded only a couple of months later. He liked their small Wyoming town enough to stick around and now took various online assignments and earned his living freelancing while he started up his own online newspaper.
She knew he was also working on writing a novel, but he’d laughed and said it was common among journalists. He’d already been working on the same book for five years and doubted he’d ever finish.
“How are you feeling?” she asked, settling near him.
“Like I got hit by a truck,” he admitted. “I thought I was in better shape than this. Back in California, I could run a 10K without breaking a sweat. Here, three miles up a hill, and I’m ready to collapse.”
“Altitude affects everyone differently,” Gina said. “And it was closer to four miles of technical trail, elevation gain, and worsening conditions. Plus, we did the miles back in a blizzard. Don’t be so hard on yourself.”
Joe managed a weak smile. “Thanks for defending me earlier, when the others were getting suspicious about who belonged here and who didn’t.”
Gina frowned. “No one said you didn’t belong.”
“They didn’t have to. I could see them thinking it. New guy, struggling with the conditions, maybe I’m not really part of the group.”
“You are part of the group,” Gina said firmly. “You’ve been running with us for a while now. That makes you one of us.”
