“Good hill,” he said.
“There are bigger ones.”
“I assumed.”
She looked at the slope below them for a moment, then back up at him. “Have you ever ridden a sled down something like this?”
“As a kid.”
“Not like that.” She unclipped her harness. “Watch.”
She sat down on the sled, knees bent, feet out front. She looked back at him once and then pushed off.
He watched her go.
She moved fast down the hill, heels digging into the snow to steer, controlling her line. She hit the flat at the bottom, stood, and looked up at him. A huge smile spread across her face as she gave him a thumbs-up.
He was already unclipping his harness and positioning himself as she had. Mostly.
“Feet out in front,” she called. “Not to the sides. You steer with your heels, not your whole foot.”
“How much pressure?”
“Enough. You’ll figure out what enough is.”
He pushed off.
The first thing he noticed was how fast it happened. The sled accelerated quickly on the packed surface, and his instinct was to brake with both heels, which slowed him but also pulled him sideways. He overcorrected with the opposite heel, and the whole thing went a bit sideways before he remembered small inputs and let himself settle into the sled.
By the bottom, he was somewhat in control. Not the same kind of control Steph had, not the smooth, deliberate thing she’d done, but functional.
She clapped as he stood. “Not bad. There’s another hill, so you can try it again. I love riding on the downhills, especially when I’m tired. It gives me a rest and a jolt of adrenaline.”
“Smart,” he agreed as he rehooked his sled to his harness.
She was already reclipped to her harness. “Sometimes riding isn’t smart. Especially when you’re exhausted and your judgment is compromised, or when the grade is steeper and the surface is less predictable.”
“I understand.”
“You understand it right now. Understanding it at hour forty is different.” She paused as he gave a nod. “Ready to run?” She gestured toward the next hill.
This one was steeper. They’d be at the top faster, but he knew the exertion would cost him.
“Let’s do it.” His legs registered the climb differently now, a useful ache that told him he was working the right things.
He watched her move.
She’d coached him on the sledding without condescension, without performance, without any of the edge she carried when they were talking about the running club or the Jingle Run or anything that lived in the space between their two worlds.
Out here, she was amazingly competent and completely comfortable, and he was finding it increasingly difficult to look at anything else.
Steph knew when to push and when to let the body work at its own pace. She knew how to read the road surface from the way her headlamp hit it. She knew when the cold was changing and adjusted before it became a problem. Earlier, he’d watched her pull a neck gaiter up another inch before he even registered the temperature drop.
He thought about the videos he’d watched of her, the interviews, the footage from previous races. He’d noticed her competence in those, too, but footage was a flat thing. Being beside it was different.
Being besideherwas different.
She’d done this alone before. Multiple times. That sat with him. Hours in the dark wilderness, solo, a sled behind her, bear spray on her hip, and nothing else between her and whatever the wilderness decided to do.
